


Second Will Never Be Enough

by quicksiluers



Category: Aladdin (2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Prequel, Prisoner of War, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksiluers/pseuds/quicksiluers
Summary: Street rat. A messenger. Prisoner of war. Grand Vizier of Agrabah.Jafar was all of these things. But he wanted more than that. He would be second to no one. He would be the most powerful man in the room. Because without that, he was nothing.





	1. Boy from the Streets

**Author's Note:**

> So...I love the new Aladdin. I've seen it way too many times? Anyway, I also love what they did with Jafar. I thought Marwan did a fabulous job and I really liked the backstory they added to the character. It couldn't be touched on more obviously cause it's Aladdin & Jasmine's movie, but my mind has been racing with ideas. 
> 
> Anyway, story was inspired by a FABULOUS comic I found on twitter. It's short and I was unable to understand exactly what was being said because it was in a different language, but that comic got me thinking about the different relationships Jafar probably had with the royal family and the people in the palace. Marwan also brought this up in an interview, how he thought that the Sultan brought Jafar in from the streets and he was like a mentor for Jafar until he fell into his jealously, need for power, and greed.
> 
> Here's a link for the comic, check it out -> https://twitter.com/orb00001/status/1139989347761967105  
> Love the art style, I thought I had posted it here when I first typed up this note...oh well, go and enjoy it!

Life was not easy in Agrabah. The desert heat exhausted anyone who stayed in the sun rays for a moment too long, at times it was unbearable. Even long-time citizens of the kingdom well victim to it from time to time. The streets were crowded with people coming and going from kingdoms and lands from far and wide. The kingdom was one of the major seaports along the coast, which brought together people of all backgrounds. It was great for the growing kingdom, even though there were growing pains for some in the land. With more and more people arriving each day, the population continued to grow.

For Jafar, the massive crowds made it easy for him to navigate through the bustling streets. It also allowed for cover when he was stalking the merchant carts that lined the streets. He knew exactly what areas of the city to go to at exactly the right time of day to find merchants distracted by multiple customers. Stealing had almost become too easy for him.

The young boy stretched as he looked out the opening of the building he called “home”. It was one of the only things he could call his own. It was small, but serviceable for what he could find. And the location was perfect, overlooking the seaport of the massive city. He was able to track when new shipments for certain items would come in just by the style of the boats or the flags that hung from them. He found that the southern kingdoms brought the best items, the fabrics they provided much softer than anything he could find in Agrabah. 

He brushed back his curly hair, a smile creeping on his face. The flag-waving above the massive ship that had arrived in port would provide the perfect distraction. It wasn't a simple trading ship. Another kingdom had come to visit the royal family. Their arrival would create a circus in the streets, distracting the guards that lingered around the market and allow him to sneak through the stalls with practiced ease. 

Jumping from the opened window, Jafar tucked his legs and outstretched his hands as he somersaulted on the rooftop of the neighboring building. Taking a quick glance around, making sure no one spotted him, he rushed to the side of the building. Finding the familiar holes in the walls, he scaled down the side and landed in the alley between the buildings. The street was bustling with people, merchants voices crying out over the chatter of others, while the sun hung high in the sky. A small sweat had already formed on his forehead. 

 _‘Another day in Agrabah’_ , Jafar thought as he merged into the crowd, moving between bodies as swiftly as he could. All his life, he had only known this place. The same routine almost every day, no matter how tired he would be from running away from the guards or one of the many merchants he angered. Stealing to survive, leaving off the scraps he could find in the streets. It was all he knew. There was no mother or father to return to. He had no memory of them, not that he allowed himself to care. Jafar only had himself to rely on.

And that was all he needed. 

Quickly passing by a table, the merchant was distracted by another customer, Jafar snatched a small apple. His hand slid itself back into his baggy sleeve, stashing the item in a satchel he had hidden under his ragged cloak. It was like second nature to him at this point. He bit back a smirk as he heard a startled cry the merchant.

Blending quickly back into the crowd, his eyes scanned around, wary of any of the palace guards. Though they were most likely distracted, he still didn't wish to deal with them today. Not after the incident form last week. His shoulder still stun from the bruising grip one of them left on him before he was able to slip away and escape. 

From the corner of his eye, a glimmer caught his attention. He stopped, receiving some unsavory comments from other passersby, and gazed at the object. It was a golden bracelet, beautiful blue and red jewels adorning the sides, and other smaller details he couldn’t make out. But it was stunning and just sitting on the edge of the table. How could one be so careless with something so precious?

The merchants were always foolish. A small piece like that wouldn’t be missed by anyone.

Weaving through the crowd, Jafar’s eyes didn’t leave the bracelet. Almost as if it had set him in a trance. The amount of food he could get from trading such an item would keep him set for a week or so at least. It would be perfect, giving himself a break from having to explore the streets each day. He could use the extra rest. 

It felt as if the golden treasure was calling out to him. Slowly, as he approached, his hand reached out and his fingertips brushed the smooth metal.

“Street rat! Get away from that!”

He froze for split second, shocked he let himself be seen before his mind jumped into action. Snatching the bracelet, Jafar ducked as he felt the merchant's hands gaze him and broke out into a sprint. He could hear the yells from the merchant, alerting the guards in the area, but he continued to push against the crowd. He needed as much distance as he could between him and pursuers. 

Turning down an alley, Jafar sprinted as fast as he could, glancing back quickly. No one seemed to be following him which he found odd before brushing it off. He needed to stay focused on his getaway. 

At the end of the alley, he didn’t see any guards. His mind began to turn, forming a plan. He would snake through the city, make sure that no one was following him, and during the right time he’d make it back to his ho-

He slammed into the hard body of someone, seeing stars for a moment. A hand tightly gripped his arm, causing him to cry out, and yanked him forward into the street.

“You think you can just run off? You have another thing coming boy!”

The guard backhanded him and Jafar could feel his lip split open. The taste of iron lingered in his mouth as he tried to push his feet into the dirt ground. The guard yanked on his arm, trying to get him to move. The young boy fought, pressing his heels into the ground, and he began to hit the hand that had an iron grip on him. He could feel the bruise that would be left behind.

The guard holding him looked down at him, a sneer on his face, “You little brat, if you don’t stop-”

“Is everything alright here?”

A calming voice stopped the guard, his head whipping around. The hand on Jafar's arm loosened. The young boy's brows furrowed, looking beyond the guard to find the source of the voice. Who could stop the guard with just a command?

A man came through the crowd and Jafar’s eyes widened. The clothing was unmistakable, the fabrics pristine, gold lining the edges of the sleeves. The way that the man carried himself, his dark brown beard cut clean, his eyes taking in the scene before him. The ring he wore on his hand. There was a calm that settled around the market just from his presence. Yet he still couldn't believe his own eyes. 

It was the prince of Agrabah.

“My prince…” the guard sputtered, dragging Jafar closer to him. He stumbled forward, still in shock, “I was just taking care of this thie-”

“A thief you say?” the man asked, an eyebrow raised. His tone was warm but stern. As if he was reprimanding a child. “For someone so small, he seems to be a handful for you.”

The guard flustered, attempting to come up with an excuse before he gave up. The vice-like grip on Jafar's arm was gone and he quickly clutched it to his body. The prince nodded his head, motioning for the guard to leave. As the embarrassed man scurried away, the prince knelt in front of Jafar. The young boy was still stunned, unsure of what was happening. He didn’t realize until he saw the bracelet in front of him that the prince had taken it from his grasp.

“The detail is very nice,” the prince admired, turning the item in his hand, “But I would assume not for you. What were you going to use this for young man?”

His gaze was friendly, the question not laced with the anger that Jafar is used to. He tugged on one of his fingers, unsure of how to answer. Should he be honest? But when had that ever helped him? Being honest only ever ended with him getting into more trouble. But this situation didn’t feel the same. There was something...different about the prince.

“Food,” he admitted, “I needed food.”

The prince’s brows furrowed, confused, “Can your parents not provide that?”

The young boy shook his head, “No...parents.”

For a few moments, there was silence between the two, the hustle of civilians around them providing the only distraction. Jafar’s eyes hadn’t left the prince’s face but he can feel himself becoming panicked. Thinking about his parents hurt him. They didn’t want him, they left him on the doorstep of an overrun orphanage. He may as well be dirt to them, to anyone. Who could care about a street rat like himself?

They only brought sadness and anger to his heart.

A roll appeared before him, dragging Jafar from his thoughts. His eyes lingered on it for a moment, before looking up to the prince. His eyes, a deep brown, were warm, “Here. It won’t bite, I promise.” 

His gaze flickered back and forth, suspicious, before slowing taking the roll. He held it in his hands as if it was precious. 

No one had ever given him something before.

Biting into the roll, he heard the prince laugh slightly and he started to talk to one of his personal guardsmen. It was like white noise to Jafar. Taking another hungry bite, he could feel the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. A warmth he had never experienced filled his chest. He couldn't understand what he was feeling. No one had ever been so kind to him. What had he done to deserve it? 

Embarrassed, he tried to hide his face form the prince, looking down at his feet as he ate the bread. What would he think of him if he saw him crying over a simple roll of bread? Surely it would be a pathetic sight for someone like the prince. 

A heaviness settled on the top of his head, snapping his attention back. Looking up, the tear tracks still on his cheeks, he started up at the face of the prince. The prince’s eyes widened for a split second, taken aback by the tears, before ruffling the young man's curly hair. Heat flooded Jafar's cheeks. 

“Don’t cry...it’s ok,” he whispered reassuringly, a soft smile on his lips. He paused, kneeling down to meet Jafar's eyes. Like he was searching for something. There was a spark in the prince's eyes that he  didn't understand “I have an offer for you, if you’d like to hear it?”

Tilting his head, intrigued, Jafar nodded and the prince continued. “They are looking for some boys to work within the palace. You seem very bright for your age...how would you like to come back with me?” the prince asked, his hand falling to Jafar's shoulder. 

Jafar could have tumbled back in shock. He didn't believe what he heard. “The...palace?”

When the prince nodded, Jafar didn’t know what to say. There were no words he could think of, just the trembling of his hands. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears he felt welling up again.  He needed to compose himself. He couldn't cry in front of the prince again. 

Using his large sleeve, he wiped furiously at his eyes before taking a deep breath. He didn't know what the position would be. But anything had to be better than living on the streets of his city, living on crumbs from day to day. “I would...like that,” he answered with a small bit of hesitancy, still unsure. It was an offer he couldn't refuse though. 

The prince's face broke into a smile, happiness in his eyes. His hand found Jafar's hair again, ruffling the unruly curls. Jafar couldn't help but blush again, unfamiliar with this sort of affection. It was nice. “Wonderful. Then we can go…?” he trailed off, taking his hand off Jafar’s head, hands resting on his bent knees.

Jafar frowned at the pause, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. What was he asking? It took a moment for him to realize. “Jafar.” 

“Hamed.” the prince replied, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Jafar.”

Taking the other man’s hand, Jafar tried to keep a firm grip, shaking it. Prince Hamed’s hand was warm, not as callous as his. He felt slightly embarrassed, someone with such power shaking the hand of a commoner.

Prince Hamed smiled and stood up, their hands still linked. His grip was comforting to Jafar. He couldn't understand why. With the prince next to him, he felt extremely safe. Comforted. A small smile tugged on his lips as he looked up at the older man, voice filled with gratitude, "A pleasure as well...Prince Hamed."

Together they walked toward the palace. The prince's guards followed behind them, though Jafar tried not to pay attention to them. He was solely focused on the prince, who was describing the palace, what duties he could have, and then peppering him with questions about himself. It was enough to make his head spin. 

This had to be an opportunity. He could feel it in his bones. Someone had given this chance to Jafar, to be more than a simple "street rat". To gain more power then he could have ever dreamed. The people who forgot him, who sneered at him, would regret it. He would make sure of that.

At the same time, as he looked up at the prince as he answered a question, he couldn't help but feel the warmth growing in his chest. The mere idea of someone caring for him, watching out for him, it was all foreign to him. But in their brief time together, the prince had done that. He looked at him for who he was, not the label that many had branded him with. More then anything, that was what he wanted. 


	2. New Born of Agrabah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Street rat. Guard. Prisoner of war. Grand Vizier of Agrabah.
> 
> Jafar was all of these things. But he wanted more than that. He would be second to no one. He would be the most powerful man in the room. Because without that, he was nothing.

In the time Jafar had been at the palace, he had never seen it as chaotic as he had in the past month. Even the wedding between Prince Hamed and the princess of Shirabad, which occurred a month or so after his arrival, couldn't compare. That had left the young boy's head spinning. The excitement in the air for that even had been extraordinary. 

This was a different sort of excitement, one that bled through the entire kingdom.

The prince and the princess’s baby had been born. The excitement flooded through the palace halls and into the bustling streets of Agrabah. There had been cheers of joy when the news was delivered to the people. Even now, when Jafar had to venture out into the market for an item needed by the prince, the gleeful chatter of the newborn girl was still on the lips of citizens. 

The thought of the baby girl made him frown as he turned the page of the book that was occupying his time. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like the baby. How could he, he hadn’t even met the newborn yet. He wasn’t sure what the feeling in his chest was whenever she was mentioned. But he knew he didn’t like it. 

Jafar sighed, glancing up at the prince. The older man sat across the room from him, his hand holding his head up as his eyes scanned the book he was reading. They had been in the prince's sanctum for most of the day. The prince had told advised that he would be catching up on his work, but Jafar knew better. The bags under the older man's eyes and his sluggish movement gave him away. The prince had been this way since the baby was born. From what Jafar understood from overhearing some of the gossiping handmaidens, the baby wasn't sleeping as well as they hoped. 

But that couldn't prevent the prince from working. The current sultan, the prince's father, needed all the help he could get from what Jafar observed. Thinking about the ruler made him frown. 

The sultan was...a troubled man. He had been one of the few who wasn’t as thrilled over his granddaughter as everyone else. Mostly, from what Jafar gathered, because she was a girl. It confused him, it wasn't as if it was the baby's fault. But he had noticed that the sultan made most things into arguing points whenever he had the chance. 

By mistake, Jafar had overheard a disagreement between the prince and his father one night when he was returning to his quarters. There was a book he had wanted from the records, information regarding the seaport of the city, and he was walking around the outskirts of the main hall when he heard the two muffled voices. It was coming fro one of the side rooms. He didn’t linger around long enough to hear the end of the argument but knew it had ended poorly when Prince Hamed wouldn’t even speak with his father for a week. 

Jafar had run back and forth many times that week between the two of them. 

Being the messenger for Prince Hamed had its challenges at the beginning. There had been many nights when he would sit up and debate fleeing the palace after making a mistake during the day. The prince would brush it off, smiling, but he would be crushed with embarrassment. Through those challennges, he pushed on. Any chance he could, he studied. Taking in all different types of information, from the laws of the land or the different languages that the visiting merchants spoke. He would discuss with the servants and the guards, the ones who would speak with him, about the daily activities around the palace. But he excelled most with the access to the books the prince would provide him. That was where his knowledge flourished. Learning information about kingdoms beyond Agrabah that he had never dreamed of knowing, legends of mystical objects and caves full of gold.

Studying occupied most of his free time.

It was either that or training that damn parrot Prince Hamed had gifted him. The creature's shrill squawking echoed in his head. The mere thought of the red menace made Jafar inwardly groan. 

The prince's tired gaze turned toward him, making Jafar sit up more in his seat. A playful glint was in the other man's eye, which left him confused for a moment. Realization flooded over him and he couldn't help the heat rising up to his cheeks, reddening them slightly. The groan hadn't been internal. 

“Something bothering you Jafar?” Prince Hamed asked, pushing away the book he was reading. 

“No my prince,” he replied, trying to hide his embarrassment, “Just...thinking about different ways to cook a parrot.”

The prince’s face broke into a smile, chuckling, before waving the boy over, “Come here...I’m sure we can brainstorm a few different ways.”

Marking his spot within the book, Jafar jumped from his chair, carefully bringing it over to the prince’s desk. The desk was gorgeous, the dark wood etched with over a hundred different details that he was still finding. But it's surface was a mess. Books and parchments were scattered around, items the prince was supposed to be catching up on. Jafar would never tell, but he would see the prince nodding off at his desk from time to time. He didn't disturb him, pretending he didn't notice the sleeping man. He knew that the prince needed that rest. 

The prince rested his chin in his hand, his elbow propped up on the desk's surface. His eyes twinkled with playful delight. “Having trouble with Iago?”

Jafar dropped his shoulders, letting out an exasperated sigh. The bird was going to be the end of him. “He is a beautiful bird my prince, I thank you again for such a gift...” the prince's eyebrow rose, clearly not buying into his words. His cheeks flushed, fighting to keep a pout off his face. “But...he has a tendency to peck me in the head. Even when I try to feed him.”

“Does he stop when you feed him?”

“No. I don’t think he likes me.” He frowned, looking away, “And he repeats random things that I say.”

Prince Hamed laughed, leaning forward toward him. His arms rested on his thighs. “Those types of birds tend to do that.”

“Yes but Iago is...annoying about it.”

Shaking his head, the prince chuckled as he reached out and ruffled Jafar's hair affectionately. The young boy fought back a smile. 

Prince Hamed leaned back into his chair, a small smile on his lips. “He’ll learn to love you, he’ll have to if he wants to eat.” A chuckle passed his lips, the image of the young boy and the red parrot extremely amusing. But his gaze lingered on his messenger, who shifted underneath his gaze. The young man looked more tired then he should have been, Guilt settled over him. “Jafar, I want to apologize. I feel like I have been short with you this week.”

The boy sat up, eyes wide. “My prince…”

Hamed lifted his hand, stopping him, “I know what you will say, but please. Being tired doesn’t excuse me from the rudeness I showed you," His arms crossed over his chest, frowning, "They were minor things...I hope you can forgive me.”

Jafar stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. It had hurt him, the shortness of the prince had with him. It was unusual for the older man to scold him over small errors. He was normally reassuring and understanding, pointing him in the right direction to improve for the next time. It was foolish for such things to bother him. But he had pushed the blame of the prince's actions on the newborn girl, unfairly or not. 

“My prince…,” he started before Hamed shook his head, a smile hinted on his lips. 

“You don’t have to be so formal when it’s just us Jafar.”

Jafar bit the inside of his cheek. He kept making that mistake. “You don’t have to apologize...Hamed,” saying the prince’s name still felt odd to him, “You have been tired. I shouldn’t have made those mistakes.”

“You’re too hard on yourself my boy,” the older prince huffed, "They were small things. Nothing to fret over."

They sat together in comfortable silence before Jafar nodded to the prince. It still amazed him, talking to the prince of Agrabah in such a casual manner. A boy like him, who had no right to be in such a place like a palace. It still felt like a dream for him. 

The prince smiled, his eyes gazing around the room. His head stopped, eyes lingering on outside the window. The palace gardens sat before the room, the lush planet and flowers creating a picturesque view. 

"When was the last time we left this room?" he asked, turning back to look at Jafar. It felt as if he hadn't felt the sun on his face for days. He missed the warmth of it on his skin. 

Jafar frowned, lips pursed. Their day had started earlier than normal. The prince had an unexpected meeting in the morning, with the head guard of the palace regarding issues with the market. There were also issues with the palace guards he discussed with the head guard. They also had some errands to run around the palace, looking for specific items that the prince's wife had requested while she rested with the baby. 

“If it’s taking you that long," the prince interrupted, rising from his chair, "then it’s been too long.” 

The prince stretched, joints cracking. Sitting in that chair for too long always left him sore. He motioned for Jafar, waving his hand toward the door, “How about we make a quick escape for some fresh air?”

* * *

There were areas within the palace that still felt like a maze to Jafar. Even though he followed Prince Hamed around for most of the day, there were sections that he had never entered. The wing they walked together in now was one of them. Most nights, he and the prince parted ways at his sanctum. The prince would go to be with his family for the night, enjoying the supper that was prepared for him. Jafar would quickly grab something from the kitchen and shut himself in his room, a book in his hand before he sat down on his bed. 

He and the prince had walked around the palace gardens, the stifling desert heat not detracting the prince from going outside. Jafar tried to ignore the heat, taking in the variety of flowers. The gardens were one of his favorite places within the palace walls. They were calming, away from the hustle of the palace hallways. When the flowers were in full bloom, it was one of the most stunning things he had ever seen. A few moments out in this space allowed him to catch his breath and clear his head after a long day of work.

They crossed through the library, which was stacked with rows upon rows of books. The guard who watched the space greeted the prince and Jafar as they walked through. The guard, Omar, couldn't help but ask Jafar if he was stopping by for another book. Jafar felt flush as the prince laughed lightly, patting the boys back. 

“If you don’t slow down on that, I’ll find my messenger has become a book himself.” The prince had teased as they walked from the room. 

Now, they were walking down a hall that Jafar was unfamiliar with. His gaze flickered around the space, taking in any details that could help him figure out where they were. Prince Hamed walked a few steps ahead of him, nodding to the guards that were standing at the end of the hallway. There were two of them, one taller than the other. It took him a moment to recognize the shorter one. Hakim, he believed. The prince had introduced Jafar to him and his father when he arrived at the palace. 

The prince grabbed two large handles to a pair of golden doors he had stopped in front of. Jafar's brows furrowed, confused as he watched a smile grow on the other man's face. Where were they that he would have such a joyful expression?

His heart skipped for a moment, a small cry echoing from the room behind the doors. His feet felt frozen to their spot. 

“How are my two girls doing?” The prince’s voice, laced with warmth, rang in his ears. 

Had he really brought him here? What could the prince be thinking? His hands, which he held behind his back, had started to tremble. The situation felt unreal. Briefly, his gaze met Hakim's, who's eyes were boring into him. His expression was unreadable and normally, it would leave Jafar nervous. It reminded him of the looks the guards on the streets would give him. But his shock over the current situation trounced that feeling. 

“Jafar,” Hamed's voice interrupted his racing thoughts. He almost jumped, looking up at the older man. The prince's hand waved, motioning for him to follow, “Don’t be shy, you’re allowed in here.”

Jafar bit his lip, still unsure before stepping forward to follow the prince. He crossed into the massive chambers of the royal couple. It left him speechless, his eyes scanning over the room. It was gorgeous. The floor concept was open, the room flowing out onto a balcony that had the city as it's a backdrop. The detailing was immaculate, the room littered items that Jafar assumed were from the prince's travels or the princess's homeland. It felt comfortable, simple. Which fir perfectly with the couple. 

Prince Hamed's back was to him, approaching a shaded spot on the balcony. Jafar, lingering behind, could see the princess's resting on one of the cushioned chairs that sat under an awning that covered part of the balcony. 

Seeing the princess' still left the young boy in shock. Sabira, the prince of Shirabad, was beautiful. Her dark hair cascaded loosely down her back, perfectly framing her oval-shaped face. The dark brown of her eyes shined as she greeted her husband, kissing him lightly. Her red lips grew into a smile as he pulled away from her.

Jafar turned away, squirming at the sight. He felt as if he was intruding on a personal moment between them. 

"Jafar," her voice was light, the smile growing on her face. He looked up at her, nodding sheepishly. "It's so good to see you. Come closer, there's no need for you to stand over there. 

 

His feet hadn't moved passed their bed, leaving an extreme gap between him and the couple. He felt the tips of his eyes burning, embarrassed. The blushing was something he still needed to work on. 

Slowly he walked over to them, watching Prince Hamed gush over the bundle within his wife’s arms. Jafar’s eyes widened, realizing the newborn was so close. 

Many of the servants within the palace had been unable to see the baby. It was one of the topics he overheard them discussing while he got his meals from the kitchen.  She was mostly in the princess’s presence, which had been largely in the couple’s chambers. He was unsure of the reason, he had assumed it was to allow the princess to rest and not have the baby overwhelmed so quickly. 

The fact the prince had brought him here…

Stopping behind Prince Hamed, he gazed at the newborn. Her eyes were cracked open enough for him to see they were brown, a small tuft of black hair sitting on top of her head. A hand was poking out from the blanket she was wrapped in and had a firm grip on her father’s finger, which seemed to excite the prince. The smile on the older man's face was almost flowing.

His gaze flickered to the prince and the princess then back to the baby. The aching feeling welled up in his chest again as he looked at them. It gnawed at his core. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to distract himself from the small heartache he felt. They were the picture of a perfect family. Something he never had. The warmth of a father, the love of a mother. They would care for her, protect her. The prince and the princess would do anything for her.

It was never something he had. The warmth of a mother's embrace. The pride of a father. He yearned for it. 

Jasmine would grow up with all of these things. Parents who cherished her to the end of their days. They would pamper her, protect her. She would have a kingdom that would adore her and provide her with anything she would want or need. 

Jafar never had that. He could never have that, no matter how hard he had wished. It was merely a fantasy for him. The pain of being abandoned by his own parents only grew as he watched the new family before him. It took all his energy to keep from crying at the image. 

What had he done to deserve the childhood that he suffered through?

A hand patted his back, which brought Jafar out of his dark thoughts. He looked up at Prince Hamed, brows furrowed in confusion. He couldn't think the prince's smile could grow any bigger. “Do you want to hold her?”

“M-me?” Jafar sputtered, pointing to himself. They were going to let him hold her?

Princess Sabira smiled, her expression inviting as she motioned for him to come closer,  “Of course. Come here…”

Stepping cautiously, Jafar stopped in front of the princess. She directed him on the position of his arms, how his hand should be resting on the back of the newborn’s head to provide enough support. He nodded along, earning a small laugh from the prince behind him and an encouraging nod from the princess. 

Jasmine was carefully placed in his arms and he stood frozen, unable to breathe for a moment. Everything about this was new to him. 

Prince Hamed kneeled down next to him, eyebrows raised in a playful manner. “Look at that, not so hard is it?”

Jasmine’s eyes cracked open more, blinking up at the young boy. Her little hand, which he realized was still out from the blanket around her, grasped his thumb gently. 

She was...extremely cute like this. He couldn’t deny that. A small smile tugged on his lips. Standing there, unsure of what to do, he swayed back and forth slightly. It was something he remembered seeing at the orphanage while he was there, short as it was. The babies seemed to have liked it when he watched. 

The prince and princess seemed to find the whole scene adorable, from what he picked up from their conversation they were making. But his focus was on the baby girl. Maybe they had been born differently, but what right did he have to judge someone so small? She had done nothing to wrong him. The gnawing and festering feeling that clawed at his chest wouldn't dictate how he treated this young child. He wouldn't allow it. 

The prince's hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing it with some sort of affection. The princess smiled at him as she carefully took Jasmine fro his arms, jokingly calling him a natural with the small child. Jafar felt warmth swell in his chest and he wanted nothing more to stay in this moment. To be with these people who seemed to accept him into their lives. Who cared for him. He wanted to stay long enough to cherish the memory. 

Because Jafar knew that happiness like this would never last for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but the thought of Iago messing with Jafar and just annoying him makes me laugh soo much. In particular the live action Iago cause he is just like a parrot and is kind of a troll to Jafar? What a champ.
> 
> If you're wondering about timeline, I would say this takes place...a year and a half after the first chapter? The prince and the princess of Shirabad married in that time, does that make sense?
> 
> We never got a lot of info about Jasmine's mother in either movies, more so in the 2019 version, so I'm trying to come up with her on my own. I remember reading that a producer or someone in the production of the movie stated that Shirabad had Indian influences in the culture, so the name Sabira is a name I found that means "steadfast" and "patient" which I thought fit my idea of her. But! If you don't think the name works, please let me do. Internet searches don't always work. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Little Jafar is trying his best to not be superrrr jealous but you can't just have those sorts of things fester in you too long...also, Jafar has moved from crying to blushing, what will he upgrade to next.


	3. A Young Man's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Street rat. A messenger. Prisoner of war. Grand Vizier of Agrabah.
> 
> Jafar was all of these things. But he wanted more than that. He would be second to no one. He would be the most powerful man in the room. Because without that, he was nothing.

“Again. You’re overthinking it”

Gripping the handle of the sword, Jafar slid his foot back into position. Across from him, Hakim twirled his sword in his hand before falling into another stance. Sweat rolled down Jafar’s face, a wave of frustration coming over him. They had been out here a few hours and he had yet to even tap Hakim. 

Metal hitting metal echoed through the gardens of the palace. The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the two men training. It was one of the hottest summers that Agrabah had seen in ages.  Most, if not everyone, attempted to stay indoors to keep cool during some of the most extreme points during the day. 

Hakim had other ideas. “You have to be ready for any type of situation, prepared to stand out in the heat for hours on end,” he explained as they walked together, “if we can’t stand up to heat, then what good are we to the royal family?”

Which is how the pair found themselves out in the blazing sun, Jafar dodging a swing from the older man’s sword. He parried an attack, twisting out of the other man’s reach. Hakim countered quickly, swinging his sword toward the midsection of Jafar in an attempt to throw him off. Identifying the attack, Jafar turned on his heel and swung his sword out, Hakim’s arm exposed. Stopping before the weapon could cut through his clothing, Jafar lightly tapped his trainer’s arm. 

A sigh left Jafar, a smile tugging on his lips, before standing back up fully. “Only took a few hours…” he panted, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. 

“Better,” Hakim replied with a nod, sheathing his sword, “You’re starting to anticipate attacks better.”

“It’s trying to get used to the flow of it,” Jafar explained, putting his own sword away, “and trying not to overthink is tricky…”

The two walked over to the edge of the gardens where a tree almost as tall as the palace’s walls grew. It’s giant branches provided the perfect amount of shade from the excessive heat. Grabbing his discarded shemagh, Jafar wiped the sweat from his face and rubbing his head. His new style would take some getting used to. His curly hair, which had been with him for so long, did him no good in this heat. Plus, he had grown out on them. To be in the royal family's presence with hair like that was embarrassing. At least, that was his rationale for cutting them off early in the week. 

“You have to admit this heat is ridiculous,” Jafar argued, sitting down cross-legged on the grass, “I can’t remember a day as hot as the last few we’ve had.”

Hakim sat against the tree, setting his sword beside him, and leaned back, “It’ll pass like all other things,” Jafar shot the older man a look and he laughed, “But yes...it’s very hot.”

Though the man was a few years older than him, Jafar enjoyed being around Hakim. He was different from most of the other guards, who didn’t seem like they wanted to give Jafar the time of day. Busy with their own jobs and lives. But he had gotten to know Hakim from being around the royal family so often. Silent and determined while on duty, but they had talked during some late nights that showed an amusing side to him. Thoughtful as well. 

He admired Hakim’s sense of loyalty.

“Are you still thinking of joining the army?”

Jafar coughed, choking on the water he had been drinking, and patted his chest, “Who told you that?”

The other man shrugged, “Word gets around, you should know that. Why else would you ask to train?”

He frowned, “Maybe because I wanted to be a palace guard?”

“Don’t play dumb…”

Jafar’s shoulders slouched, a hand picking at the shemagh that sat in his lap. It had been a thought that was bothering him for a week. It wasn't just the idea. It was the conversation he had with Prince Hamed regarding the idea. His teeth gritted at the name. 

It had been a simple concept. The sultan had mentioned it to him one night when Jafar stopped to deliver a message regarding a neighboring kingdom from the prince. They would be looking for new recruits and the sultan thought that Jafar should take a look into the matter. 

 _“You can’t be my son’s messenger forever,”_  the sultan stated, leaning back in his chair, _“as much as he would like you to be. Keep it in mind.”_

It made sense to the young man. It was not as if he would be able to stay by the prince's side in the same position forever. When the prince would move on to be sultan, he would have others assisting him and where would that leave him? The idea of staying in one position for the rest of his time wasn’t what Jafar wanted either. As much as he loved being in the palace and being in his kingdom, he wanted to see more. What was life in other countries, other kingdoms like? Princess Sabira had described her home country in such detail to him when he would ask her, he could almost picture it in his mind. But he wanted to see those places, experience what it was like. 

Being at the side of the prince wouldn’t allow for that, at least now. Prince Hamed mostly stayed within the walls of the palace, working with the grand vizier and other advisors of his father. The majority of his free time was spent with his family. 

Offhandedly, Jafar mentioned it one night to the prince before they separated for the evening. They had come to an agreement about him training with Hakim to possibly become a guard. It didn’t seem like a stretch for him to mention possibly joining the army as well.

The anger that had flashed in the prince’s eyes shocked him. They argued, Jafar not understanding what had brought such a reaction and Prince Hamed at dismissed him, his backed turned to him. 

It had been a week since that happened and he still couldn’t bring himself to see the prince. 

The younger man shrugged, “I don’t know...maybe, I haven’t decided. It was just a thought.”

“A word of advice?” 

“Are you going to tell me not to?” Jafar asked, glaring over at Hakim. Did they all think so lowly of him that he couldn’t even join the army?

“It’s miserable, trust me,” he contended, crossing his arms over his chest, shrugging, “I see what they put those guys through.”

Anger coursed through him, his hand fisted into his shemagh, “And you don’t think I could handle it?”

Hakim shook his head, “I didn’t say that,” he shot back, “You could. I’m just saying you could be used better somewhere else.”

Jafar’s eyebrow’s furrowed, “What do you me-”

“Hakim!”

A high pitched cry caused the two young men to turn. A small figure in sky blue charged towards them, a happy laugh escaping the young child as she approached. Jasmine’s smile shined, jumping into Hakim’s lap and wrapping her small arms around his chest.

“I knew it was you!” She exclaimed, looking up at him, “Mama wasn’t sure but I just knew it was you!”

Jafar snorted, covering his mouth to keep the laughter at bay. Hakim, one of the bravest men in the kingdom, was frozen, unsure of how to react to the young princess. The image was priceless. 

“Princess…” Hakim sighed, patting her head, “It is good to see you. Where is your mother?”

“She’s coming! She was talking to…,” her voice trailed off as it she seemed to realize that Hakim wasn’t alone under the tree. Her eyes, the shimmering brown Jafar remembered from all those years ago, were trained on him. 

“Jaffa?”

He blinked and the young girl was in front of him, her eyes squinting, confusion on her face. She looked him up and down as if she was trying to find something, before she gasped, reaching up at his head. 

“Curls! Where are your curls?!”

Standing on his crossed legs, her hands pawed at his short hair. Jafar’s cheeks flushed, frustration and embarrassment covering his face. He could hear Hakim chuckling beyond the small princess. 

“Jasmine, don’t crawl all over him…”

Hands appeared at the young girl's sides, lifting her from her spot on his legs. Sabira, her black hair tucked behind her ears, shot an apologetic smile at Jafar as she placed her down between the two men. Jasmine pouted, frowning up at her mother and pointing at him, “But mama, Jaffa’s curls are gone!”

The princess sighed, shaking her head at the young girl's antics. “It’s just a haircut dear...he probably didn’t like dealing with them in the hot weather. And it’s Jafar." She corrected, waving her hand towards his direction, "not Jaffa.”

The young princes kept up her act, crossing her arms in defiance, “I like Jaffa.”

“It’s ok Princess Sabria,” Jafar stated, a calm expression on his face, “Jaffa is alright. But only my real friends can call me Jafar.”

The girl turned swiftly in his direction, gasping, “Am I not a real friend?!” 

“Well,” he shrugged, looking away from her, “My real friends know my name…”

“But I do! I do know it Jaff- Ja…,” she stuttered for a moment, biting her lip, “Jafar.”

He held out his hands, clapping lightly for her, “See? Now I know we’re friends.”

Hakim leaned around the young princess, raising an eyebrow, “I like Jaffa though, more fun to say.”

Jafar groaned as Jasmine cheered, turning to Hakim and chatting non-stop with him. The older man’s expression became slightly distressed, shooting him a “help me” look that Jafar pretended to ignore. 

Jafar stood and a light pressure squeezed his shoulder. Blinking, his faze turned to Sabira, who smiled warmly at him. But there was something in her eyes that made him cautious. “Do you mind if we speak for a moment?” She whispered, tilting her head in question.

He bowed his head, though his heart screamed for him to come up with an excuse not to speak with her, “Of course princess.”

“Jasmine,” Sabira called, getting her daughter’s attention, “Why don’t you and Hakim go to the kitchen and get some snacks to eat out here? If you don’t mind Hakim?”

“Of course princess,” he replied, his hand in the vice grip of Jasmine. 

Jasmine sprung up, Hakim right behind her. A look of defeat flashed in his eyes as he sent a pleading gaze to Jafar. The young man shrugged, unable to help. “That sounds perfect! What a great idea mama. Let’s go Hakim!”

The duo walked off, Jasmine almost dragging the poor man along. Jafar couldn’t help but laugh, covering his mouth with his hand again to keep his composure. 

Sabira smiled, shaking her head, “That girl has more energy than I have ever seen.”

“Children often do,” he replied. 

Grasping his elbow lightly, Sabira brought Jafar over to a bench that sat a few feet away from the tree, though still within the distance of the shade it provided. 

Sitting down beside the princess, Jafar’s hand sat on his lap, posture rigid. There was only one subject she would bring up with him and it hurt him more then he should allow it. The princess probably thought him a fool, the idea of him of all people wanting to join an army. Prince Hamed probably regaled her with his ludicrous suggestion. 

“Jasmine had a small incident this week. You see,” Sabria’s voice, light and comforting, broke him from his spiraling thoughts, “She was having fun here in the garden, chasing after a small bird of all things. I was talking with my hand maid’s, took my eyes off her for one second.

“She tripped, scraped her knee,” a smile tugged on Sabira’s lips, “it bothered her for a moment, but then she was fine. Skipping around, laughing. But when I told my husband before we had supper…,” she trailed off, turning her head and meeting Jafar’s gaze, “You would have thought she was seriously injured. It took some time for me to calm him down.”

Jafar frowned, confused, “What does that have to do…”

“My husband is an overprotective man,” she injected, her hand resting on his shoulder again, “The idea of someone he cares about being in any type of potential danger sets him on edge. I had a feeling this issue relates to the argument you two seemed to have early this week.”

“He told you.” His voice was flat, turning his gaze away from the princess. 

“No, he didn’t admit it. But I figured something happened when I didn’t see you all week,” her voice was soft, an understanding behind it, “He did mention at some point that his father was trying to gather more people for his army, younger men. I added up the pieces from there. 

“Am I close?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jafar stayed silent. Anger flared in his chest, how easy she was able to figure it out. What sort of game was she playing? Did she mean to tease him with this information? Mock him for losing the one connection he had within these walls? 

What right did she have? 

_‘Calm yourself…’_

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. Thoughts like that did nothing for him. Letting his anger fester didn’t help him. Princess Sabria meant no harm. She only wanted to help. 

He rubbed his head, fingers running through the short strands, “It was only a suggestion,” he shrugged, “I didn’t think….he would be so upset.”

“I don’t think it was just that you suggested it,” a sigh escaped her, Sabria shaking her head, “The fact that I assume it was his father who suggested it to you?” Jafar nodded. “That probably didn’t help matters. Hamed has had issues with his father for some time now, you know this.”

What she said made sense. Prince Hamed’s relationship with his father was strained at the best of times. But it didn’t help the frustration Jafar felt, the pain in his chest. 

“I don’t know what to say to him,” he muttered, turning his gaze to the princess, “He probably doesn’t want to see me.”

Soft hands grasped his own, a warmth in Sabria’s eyes, “When you speak with him, you’ll know what to say. And he won’t admit it, because he is also a stubborn man like yourself, but he has missed you. I see it when he turns his head to speak with you and your presence isn’t there.”

Jafar missed it too, his conversations with the prince. How he would ask for his opinion on matters when he was unsure on the subject. Discussing one of the many books they shared a common interest with. Even showing him the progress that had been made with Iago, who still didn’t listen to Jafar completely but had moved past trying to attack him for food. 

Prince Hamed always laughed at their antics. 

Sabira’s grip on his hands tightened, “He should be up in his study, he’s free most of the day. You should speak with him.”

A lump had grown in his throat, his eyes fixated on their hands. Hundreds of scenarios ran through his mind on how it could end badly, how he could make the situation become worse. Everything he touched seemed to rot in time, how would this relationship be any different?

_‘Don’t overthink it.’_

Hakim’s voice echoed in his head. He couldn’t continue to assume what was going to happen. It needed to happen naturally.

“Can you please tell Hakim I will be back?” He asked. ”We were supposed to train more.”

Smiling, she nodded, pulling her hands back from his, “Of course. I’m sure his time will be preoccupied with a certain small child.”

“My condolences to him,” he replied with a small laugh, standing from the bench. He bowed his head to her, “Thank you, my princess.”

“You’re so formal Jafar,” she chuckled, “Go before Jasmine returns. She’ll never let you out of her sight.”

* * *

His feet were rooted in front of the door of Prince Hamed’s study. How long he had been standing there, staring at it, he didn’t know. To anyone passing by, the sight was probably strange. A panic had settled in his chest. What if, even with an apology, he wasn’t forgiven? Banished from the palace? He couldn’t go back to the streets. 

That thought horrified him more than anything. 

_‘The prince wouldn’t do that...you’re being dramatic.’_

Closing in eyes, Jafar inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. Best to get it over and done with as quickly as he could. 

He raised his hand and knocked on the door. His head hung, gaze on his feet, waiting for a response. What were seconds felt like hours. The princess must have been mistaken, he must be busy with other ma-

“Come in.”

His head shot up, eyes wide. The moment of truth.

Carefully, he opened the door, surveying the room. It was in a small case of disarray. Books lingered on and off the shelf without the usual organization that the prince prided himself on. There were always a number of parchments on the ground. He assumed from the size of them that they were the daily reports. It looked as if the prince had been overwhelmed during the time he was avoiding him.

Prince Hamed sat at his desk, head down, looking over a document he held in his hand. He hadn’t looked up to see who had entered his study. 

Closing the door carefully behind him, Jafar stood toward the back of the room. There was a good amount of distance between him and the prince. He didn't want to get too close. He stood at attention, feet apart, and his hands clung together behind his back. He could feel them trembling. "My prince."

Hamed froze. He lifted his head and their eyes met. The prince's brows pinched together, “Jafar?”

Nodding to him, Jafar pushed on, head bowed, “I'm sorry to interrupt but I," he paused, taking a deep breath to calm his pounding heart, "I came to apologize. My behavior early in the week was childish. I hope you can accept my sin-”

“Jafar.” 

The words caught in his throat. His train of thought lost, he felt panic creeping over him. His gaze stayed at his feet, but he could hear the prince’s clothing shifting, rising from his chair. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. His plan was crumbling and along with it, his resolve. How did he allow the prince to continue to affect him like this? Revert him to the small boy that had lived on the streets all those years ago? 

“Is there something interesting on the ground?”

Jumping back slightly, Jafar’s head shot up. Prince Hamed looked down at him, an eyebrow raised, “They were cleaned the other day, but they can’t be that interesting.”

“I…,” he stopped, no words coming to him as his mind raced. 

The prince shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him, “It seems to me...whenever we have these types of discussions, you’re the one always apologizing…” a sad smile touched his lips, “when it should be the other way around.”

Jafar’s eyebrows furrowed, taking a step toward him, “My prince, I must ins-”

“The argument was so bad it reverted you back to only saying ‘my prince’,” Hamed muttered, sighing, “How foolish of me.”

Flustered, the young man pressed on, “There is ...nothing you have to apologize for, I was out of li-”

The prince’s hand grasped the back of his neck, his hold gentle. He leaned down, their eyes at the same level. There was something in them that Jafar couldn’t place. A sadness…but there was more to it. 

“My anger that night was wrongly directed at you...when I heard you mention the idea of the army, I…” his voice trailed off, looking away from him with shame. 

Sabira’s words echoed in Jafar’s mind, “You heard the sultan…”

Hamed’s eyes shot back up to his, surprised, a small laugh escaping his lips, “Have you been speaking with my darling wife?”

“There is a possibility…,” Jafar conceded, a small blush forming on his cheeks. He didn’t mean to give away the princess that easily, “She put the pieces together.”

“A talent of hers,” Hamed agreed, “But yes. We had a disagreement about it the day before and when you mentioned it, in my mind I thought of it as a taunt from him. My anger was misplaced.”

That idea hadn’t crossed Jafar’s mind. The sultan using him? It made sense, he would know of his close relationship with the prince. He would know that any sort of message from him would be reported back to his son. Anger flared in his chest. To be used like that, like some sort of pawn. 

What hurt the most from their argument hadn’t been addressed. “Do you think I could do it?”

Hamed’s eyebrows furrowed, “Do what?”

“Go into the army? Do you think I would be able to do it?” It was childish, this need for approval. But Jafar yearned for it, even now. It was funny. When it was him on the streets, he only had himself to rely on. Only himself to trust. He didn’t care about the opinions of others, they all had shared the same ones about him. 

But the prince trusted him, brought him in. All Jafar ever wanted to do was make him proud. To show it wasn’t a mistake to bring him in from the streets. To prove his worth to the kingdom. Show the whispering delegates, whose gaze would linger on him as he walked with the prince, that he wasn’t just some street boy. 

In the end, he would prove them all wrong. He would rise above them all. 

An understanding came over the prince’s face, “It seems there was more of a misunderstanding then I realized. Of course you could Jafar. You are a bright young man if it’s your heart to desire to do so...I won’t stop you.”

Jafar’s shoulders slumped in relief, “I had thought maybe…”

Hamed’s hand slide down to his shoulder, squeezing it, “I’m sorry if you felt like I was belittling you. It wouldn’t be my first choice...but if it was what you wanted, I wouldn’t stop you.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Jafar injected, “It’s just an option...I would still like to be by your side. If that is what you desire as well.”

“Always so formal Jafar,” Hamed replied with a smile. He stood up fully, hand resting on Jafar’s shoulder, “Of course you can. There are other duties that I can find for you as you gain more experience. If it interests you, you could be my eyes and ears when it comes to visiting some of the other kingdoms. Since I have been unable to do so these past few years,” the young man’s eyes lit up at that idea, nodding along, ''unless you have already decided to become a palace guard?”

“Ah, no not yet, what made you think…?”

“Well I assumed, I heard you training with Hakim out there in the gardens. And,” his hand moved from the young man’s shoulder to his head, rubbing it affectionately, “You cut off all your hair.”

He groaned, earning a laugh from the prince, “Your daughter mentioned the same thing. Should I alert the family when I get another haircut, my prince?”

“On such an important manner? Of course.”

* * *

The night sky was littered with hundreds of stars, Jafar’s eyes taking in all of them. In his quarters, he sat in an alcove, his mind racing. The idea of acting as a stand-in for the prince on kingdom relation matters enticed him. It was perfect for him. 

With it, he would rise through the ranks. Gain the respect he deserved, the power that he strived for. Continuing to gain the confidence of the prince, who was soon to be sultan. 

The opportunity allowed anything to be possible. 

His mind even played with the notion of becoming the grand vizier. 

It would take time. Patience. But he had plenty of that, learning from his days of stealing off the streets. He would just have to sit and wait, playing his cards right. 

Like a snake waiting for its prey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned into a monster and became so long, I only blame myself. I was like "let's have hakim and jafar talk, and oh let's have young jasmine! and young jasmine must have the her mother, let's have her talk to jafar! and of course the prince!" so you get my longer chapter since this one took me a few days. 
> 
> Next chapter will be different for sure, gonna get a little angsty and dark, and that's why we have a bit of fluff here. But we still got that anger that Jafar is trying to keep down...which is growing more in age. 
> 
> Also, I don't know why I thought the idea of Jafar cutting off his curly hair for the look he has in the movie would be funny, but it is. Cause Marwan's curly hair is so nice and it's a CRIME we didn't get it. 
> 
> Shemagh - (pronounced “shamay” or “schmog“) is a soft piece of woven cotton cloth, kind of like a giant heavyweight bandana.


	4. A Prince's Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a bit different. The point of view for this chapter is Hamed, you'll see why when you read. I wanted to let you know there's short clips of flashbacks within the the story, those wil be in italics. I tried to have them follow within what was happening at that scene at the time. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re doing it again.”

Sabira always saw right through him. The moment they were introduced, he was an open book to her. It was hard not to be. She was unlike any of the other princesses' he had met when she arrived at the palace. Her brown eyes had struck him when they entered, sparkling from the light but a fire behind them that took his breath away. She held herself extremely well, respectful to her father but not afraid to voice her opinion when their father's discussed their possible relationship. It would leave the room in uncomfortable silence which intrigued Hamed more.  

There was a spark to her. It was easy to see when they would walk together through the palace gardens. She would tease and question him, a sly smile tugging at her lips when he would stumble for a moment to keep up. But the conversations began to come with ease. They were comfortable around one another, linking their hands together as they toured the different rooms and corridors of the palace. The idea of being separated from her was unbearable to him. 

Through the years, that feeling never changed. Neither did her intuition when it came to reading his moods and his thoughts. Those were always crystal clear to her.  

His eyes gazed up at his wife, who had a small smirk quirked on her lips.“Doing what again?”

Her eyes rolled. “Don’t play dumb, you know what,” she replied, leaning her hip against his desk, “You’re worrying. Like you have for the past few weeks since Jafar and the other couriers left for Zeidan.”

Zeidan. One of the few kingdoms that Hamed had never visited and known very little of. From the maps they had, it sat on the other side of the country, a port city like Agrabah. He had only heard stories from merchants and others who had traveled to their kingdom through that land. It had been a mystery for most of his life that he wished to experience. 

A letter had been delivered to the palace months ago from the leader of Zeidan, offering to host any delegates that Agrabah wished to send. A new sultan had been crowned recently, as written in the letter, and they wished to create a bond with the kingdoms that they had yet to speak with. 

He had jumped at the idea, not only for creating a new ally and strengthening their kingdom but for selfish reasons. The idea of exploring a land that was unknown to him intrigued him. Learning their culture, experiencing how they lived their lives and possibly gathering information to help improve Agrabah. 

To escape from his father, just for a short time. 

The last few years had not been kind to his father. With each passing day, he felt the strain of their relationship more. It was beginning to break apart at the seams with the delusion he had that Shirabad would attack them, betray the treaty that had been written when he and Sabria married. 

But his father didn’t trust Sabria’s father and the feeling was mutual. The tension between their two nations had been high because of the ruler’s loathsome feelings toward one another. It left him unsettled. 

Sabria had tried to calm her father down with her letters, but they had been returned unopened. There were other letters she had received from her youngest brother, who worked under their father, stating that he too was slowly spiraling out of control. The entire situation had spiraled out of control. 

In the end, these issues lay at Hamed’s feet. They were too big to ignore and taking a trip to Zeidan was something that he couldn’t afford to do.

Which was why he had sent Jafar in his stead. 

“I’m not worrying,” he countered his wife, leaning back into his chair, “I’m just reviewing the reports that have been provided to me during their journey."

“Darling,” her hand slid across the desk, entwining her fingers with his, “You’ve read those reports so many times, I’m surprised you haven’t memorized them.”

He chuckled, squeezing her hand, “It’s good to know all the details.”

“When Jafar returns, I’m sure he will regal you with all the details,” her eyebrow quirked up with a playful smile, “He tends to do that every time he returns.”

_\----------_

_“I’ll paint a picture for you,” Jafar had joked as he packed his camel for travel, “It will be like you were there with us.”_

_Hamed laughed, shaking his head. “Your stories tend to take up most of my time whenever you return from these trips.”_

_Turning, Jafar’s eyebrow had risen, “You ask for as many details as I can provide. I just present you with what I have,” a smirk tugged on his lips, “Do apologize for Princess Sabira for me in advance.”_

_His eyes had followed the young man as he climbed to sit atop the camel. When had he grown so much? “I shall let her know,” he replied, a frown tugging on his lips, “Watch the sands. With everything that is going on…”_

_“We will move with the utmost caution my pri-”_

_“Hamed.”_

_Jafar stopped, staring down at the older man. Something flashed in his dark brown eyes, but the prince was unable to read it. The young man nodded with a small smile. “Hamed. I’ll...continue to practice that.”_

_“You’ll have plenty of time,” Hamed teased, patting the side of the camel. The journey would be long, but it wasn't as if Jafar hadn't completed one of these trips before. Yet the nagging feeling in his stomach wouldn't leave him. “Be careful. We’ll see you when you return.”_

\----------

Their light laughter echoed off the walls of their chambers. The prince stood, their hands still together, and walked around the desk to stand with his wife. Pressing a light kiss above her brow, he couldn’t help smiling down at her. 

Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing it lightly, “I know how badly you wanted to go,” her voice was a whisper, an understanding to her smile. 

Shaking his head, he brought her hand up to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles, “We can’t change that now. It’s best I stay with this...situation between our fathers.”

“If those two men could get their heads out of the sand,” Sabiria bristled, “If they continue down this path....”

A strong knock echoed through the room. Confused expressions were shared between the two before Hamed shrugged, “I could tell them that we’re busy…”

She snorted, playfully pushing him, “As much as I would love that, no. Don’t make whoever it is wait too long.”

Hamed sighed, separating himself from her. Striding across the room, he grasped the handle of the door and pulled it open. 

Hakim stood a few feet away from the door. The young guard was dressed in his complete uniform, which surprised him. At this time of night, there was a more casual uniform that the guards wore. But he pushed the thought aside. He couldn't help but smile at him. “Hakim. I didn’t expect to see you. What can I help you with?”

The guard bowed his head, “My prince. There is a matter that needs you attention.”

A frown pulled at his lips, “Is it urgent?”

“Absolutely.”

Hamim was a stoic young man in the same way as his father. But there were still emotions that he couldn't completely hide. The fact that he was avoiding eye contact was troubling. His body language stood out with how tense it seemed to be. This was more than a small matter. An incident had to have occurred. That worrying feeling from all those months ago shot through him. 

“Very well. One moment.” He nodded, turning form the young guard. Sabira's eyes were watchful, gaze locked on him. He tried to smile, though he found it strained. "There's an issue that needs my attention. I'll be back as soon as I can."

It took her a moment to nod, the worrying expression on her face morphing into one of calm. He knew she would question him later. "Of course," she nodded, "I’ll have Jasmine back and when you return, we’ll have supper.”

Smiling, longing to stay with her, Hamed turned away and walked into the hall with Hakim. The guard shut the door behind him and they began to walk down the corridor at a brisk pace. “Is there anything else you can tell me regarding this meeting Hakim?” He asked, casting a sidelong glance to the young man. If this was as urgent as was indicated, he wanted to have any knowledge that could be provided. A meeting with his father always brought challenges, especially when he was unprepared regarding the issue. 

Hakim shook his head, his gaze turned from the prince, “I’m sorry, I was ordered to only provide that much my prince.”

He blinked, surprised, “On whose orders?”

“My father’s.”

His worry continued to grow. Nu’man, Hakim’s father, was one of the most trusted guards within the palace walls. Being the captain of the guards, there was nothing he didn’t know regarding the kingdom when it came to its protection. It would be unlike him to call such a secretive meeting unless there was a reason. Which meant whatever this issue was, it was an issue that could affect them all. 

His mind was racing. What could it be? There were different scenarios running through his mind as they walked. It wasn't until he noticed Hakim stopping that he realized they had made it to his father's study. The doors, which were lined with gold, were sealed shut. Hakim knocked on them with a certain pattern. Whatever meeting this was, it was extremely secretive. 

"Who is it?" A deep voice asked, muffled from the door. Nu'man's voice was unmistakable. 

“Hakim and the prince Hamed,” Hakim responded, shotting a brief look over to him. 

One of the doors cracked open, Nu’man's sharp brown eyes shifting from his son to Hamed. His expression, though hard to read to the untrained eye, was distressed. The nagging feeling grew beyond the pit of his stomach. 

Ushered into the room, he was surprised to see that only he, his father, Hakim and Nu’man were within the walls. Nu’man secured the door, walking back toward the desk where the sultan sat. 

His father’s eyes bore into him the moment he entered the room. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. There was a look in his eyes that set him on edge.  

“Nu’man, what has happened?” he asked as he approached the desk, Hakim standing off to his side, “This all seems very secretive.”

“There’s been an attack.”

He froze. For a moment, it felt like his heart had stopped. An attack? He took a deep breath to compose himself, trying to push away the hundreds of scenarios running through his mind. There was no time for guessing. "An attack? Against who? Where?

Nu'man gave a quick nod to his son, who knelt down beside the desk. Hamed's eyes trailed over to him, trying to catch what he was grabbing from behind the desk, but they flickered back to Nu'man when he felt his gaze on him. “One of our courier's groups. Ten or so miles from the city. Hakim and I were out patrolling the outskirts of the kingdoms inland borders when he saw it.”

His panic was building. One of the courier groups? They had a few of them out now, but there was only one he knew was coming back soon. His head snapped toward Hakim when he placed an item on the sultan's desk. It was covered by a sheet, but it had the shape of a cage. "Saw what?" His voice was laced with desperation, trying to keep himself calm. This couldn't be happening.

Hakim's eyes met his and he knew. The young guard could hide his emotions well but the furrow in his brows and flash of sadness in his eyes gave him away. Hamed's heart tried to cling to the idea that it wasn't possible. “A messenger bird my prince. It was high in the sky, but I…,” Hakim trailed off for a moment before composing his expression, “Before I was able to call it down.”

“But only their owners…” Hamed’s voice faded as he watched Hakim slide off the sheet on the cage, revealing the scarlet parrot he was too familiar with. Its feathers were ruffled, his head turning in any which direction. Looking for its master. His mouth felt dry, heart hammering against his chest. It couldn't be.

“Jafar showed me how to call him down, in case he wouldn’t land where all the other messenger birds were,” Hakim explained, resting his hand on the cage. His jaw was tense as he continued, “when he came down, he was squawking about an ambush.”

_\----------_

_They sat together in the palace gardens, taking a late midday meal after another meeting that felt like it went on for hours. They all started to blur together for Hamed. The same arguments over and over again. Hamed couldn't help but sigh, taking another sip of his tea._

_It didn't seem to phase Jafar though, who was occupied with the bird resting on his shoulder. The young man held his hand up to the parrot, who seemed happy to take any food that was given to him. It was a humorous image to the prince. It was only a few years ago that Jafar had made mention of making the bird disappear. Now, it seemed like wherever he was, a flash of red feathers wasn't far behind._

_“I finally found some use to Iago,” Jafar stated, wiping his hand of the last crumbs of the bird's food. A smile formed on his face. " A messenger bird.”_

_That surprised him. Hamed had never thought of using the parrot in that instance. His eyebrows rose, leaning forward with interest. "Really?_ _I didn’t think he would have the patience for something like that.”_

_He hummed in agreement, glancing at the bird, “We’ve come to an understanding, as much as one can with a bi- stop that...,” Jafar swatted at the bird, which tried to beck his turban. Hamed had to bit back a laugh as the two squabbled._

_“Message! Snack!”_

“Ambush!”

The macaw’s wings spread out in the cage, attempting to escape, “Ambush! Escape!”

An ambush? The dread of the situation was beginning to overwhelm him. His eyes glanced to his father, who hadn’t said a word through this entire ordeal. There was a smugness in his eyes as if this predicament was some sort of victory for him. 

It all fell into place in his mind. An ambush. On a group of couriers coming home from another kingdom. No one else would dare to attack them, except…

“After we realized the potential of the situation, Hakim and I took a few men out into the desert, following the bird,” Nu’man explained, “When we arrived...the camels had been killed. What we assumed were the belongs of whoever was in the group were thrown around the sands.”

As his father spoke, Hakim had grabbed a sack from behind the desk. He pulled out different items as the older man spoke. Little trinkets, letters that were dotted with dry blood, and other miscellaneous objects. A small object in the young guard's hand caused Hamed's eyes to widen. Any hope he had was crushed. 

_\----------_

_It had been one of the rare occasions that Hamed had left the palace. He had more time to do it in his youth, wandering the streets for hours before being recognized by the people. Now he couldn’t take one step out of the palace walls without at least two guards._

_Jafar had volunteered to come with him. They walked together through the market, people bowing to him before he could insist it wasn’t needed. The young man beside him seemed distracted, “It has been a long time since I’ve been out here,” he explained, “but it hasn’t changed.”_

_At one point, they had become separated. Hamed could see Jafar's back through the crowd, talking to a merchant at one of the stalls. There was an item in Jafar’s hand that he couldn’t make out. But there was a smile on his face, so he assumed it was something good._

_When Jafar returned to his side, his messenger held out a ring. It was silver, lined with small details along the sides and a black jewel resting on top. Jafar smiled at him as he slipped it on his finger, “I had always wanted one of these when I was a boy.”_

\----------

The ring rested in the palm of Hamed’s hand now, the small detailed crevices covered in blood. It took everything in his power to keep his hand from trembling, “Do we know…?”

“Yes, my prince. We found this.” Nu'man held up a gold going between his fingers. It was small, but unmistakable in his eyes. A tiger’s head was engraved in the middle, the glitter of the gold as bright as he remembered when he had first visited that place. 

Shirabad had an infatuation with gold. 

“It was found among the other items that were scattered. In one of the courier's bags, towards the bottom,” Hakim clarified, taking the coin from his father. The frown on his face deepened, “As if it was deliberately put there. To…send a message.”

“But why go after a group of couriers?” Hamed asked desperately, looking between the two guards, “And to bring them back to Shirabad?”

Nu’man’s expression was grave, “I believe they were after you, my prince.”

The notion caused him to freeze. After him?

“Don’t act so shocked Hamed. Isn’t it obvious?” His father finally injected, waving a hand toward his son. “They probably meant to ambush that group and take you as their prisoner, forcing my hand into doing whatever that idiot over in Shirabad wanted.”

“How would they know I was planning to go to Zeidan?” He countered, the ring clenched in his hand. “There were only a select few who knew.”

His father’s eyebrow quirked, “Why do you think we’re having this meeting in private?”

His glare at the older man was fierce, an unsettling revelation dawning on him. “You think there’s a mole in the palace?”

Nu'man stepped toward him, his hand resting on his arm. “There is no exact proof, my prince. But there is a possib-”

“Or it could be that darling wife of yours,” his father interrupted, “It is on-”

“Don’t,” Hamed growled, brushing of Nu'man's hand and stepping toward the desk. His hands lay on the desk and leaned forward, toward his father. “You have no right to accuse her, how dar-”

  
The sultan’s laughter echoed through the room, sending a chill down his spine. “No right to accuse?! Oh you simple boy, you don’t understand! Her father is a menace and you are blind to her ch-”

His fist slammed on the desk, rage coursing through him. His father always knew the best way to get under his skin. But he wouldn't let this stand. He glared at his father, his face snarled, “You know not what you speak. Try to accuse Sabira again...and we will be having another discussion.” 

They stood there, the tension within the room almost suffocating. 

“These attackers knew the exact route they would be travelling,” Nu’man stated, glancing between the two royal family members, “Someone knew something. But not enough to know that the prince had to cancel his involvement with this trip.”

“But why go to the effort of capturing Jafar and the other’s?” Hamed questioned, leaning back from the desk. Being in the same room with his father was beginning to make his skin crawl with disgust. 

“We are working to figure out why. As of now, we believe they are still alive.” 

* * *

He couldn't believe this had happened. Walking through the corridors of the palace back to his chambers, Hamed felt as if he was in a daze. Any different scenario ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. What could be happening to the group now? What were they planning to do with them? How, even though it seemed foolish, he could have helped or stopped everything from happening. 

Hakim walked beside him, silent, the sack of items clenched in his hand. He appreciated having the young man's calm composure at his side. Another argument broke out between him and his father regarding Sabira and the two guards had to separate them before it escalated further. The thought of his own father made his blood boil. 

Hamed stopped in the middle of the corridor, the young guard taking a few steps before pausing. He turned, shooting the prince a confused look. Hamed wrung his hands together, attempting to release some of the tension he felt building. "Hakim...what else did you see out in the desert?"

The young guard's eyes widened before looking away, his shoulder's slumping. He looked as tired as Hamed felt. He knew this was a difficult situation for him as well. Jafar and Hakim were close. They spent much of their free time together, training or talking together. Hamed started at Hakim, watching his jaw clench and unclench for a few moments before his gaze met his. Worry was etched over his face. 

“My prince...did Jafar carry anything with him identifying himself as your messenger?”

Hamed’s brows furrowed, thinking back to the day the young man left the city. From what he understood, Jafar only declared himself as his messenger when asked. There was nothing on his clothing that would give it away, aside from the type of material it was made from. But even then, it wasn’t uncommon for a messenger in his position to wear such fine fabrics. Jafar's ring, which was still clenched in his hand, wouldn't have tipped anything off. It was beautiful, but it was a simple piece. 

“There’s nothing that comes to mind...and even if they could identify him, I don’t think their sultan would remember him,” he muttered, his thoughts racing, “When he came here last, Jafar was still young.”

While he spoke, Hakim dug through the sack that he held in his hands. The sack was set on the ground and Hamed’s eyes were met with a leather-bound notebook. Like the letters, it had dried blood on its cover and the corner of the of it seemed as if it had soaked in a pool of it. Hakim handed it to the prince, who turned it over in his hands before slowing opening to the first page.

“I found it off the main site of the attack. It doesn’t say his name, but the handwriting seemed to be Jafar’s,” he reasoned, “There are some notes specifically regarding you and what he wanted to inform you about. I fear that whoever took them...may have read it.”

Flipping through the pages, Hamed’s eyes scanned through the sentences upon sentences on every page. The book was incredibly detailed oriented, one moment discussing the architecture of the buildings that lined the streets of Zeidan or a simple description of the gardens and their hundreds of flowers.  

What caught his eye was the little notes next to the lines of information. Little arrows pointed to certain phrases, an abbreviated name next to them. As if Jafar was reminding himself to specifically mention certain things to certain people. There was a note that Hamed assumed was Jasmine, relating to the flowers and animals that lived within the kingdom. Another one for Sabira regarding the different ships that lined the port of the city. 

But overwhelmingly, there were a number of notes for him. His name wasn’t fully written out, “Ha” was what was written, but it did leave him feeling numb. If the sultan of Shirabad discovered that Jafar was his messenger, he could use him. In the state that man was in, Hamed didn’t want to think of what they would do to him. 

But the notebook had been left with the other items, not brought with them. Which meant that they wouldn’t know. 

“If they had known or figured out who he was...they would have taken this with them,” Hamed disputed, cradling the book in his hands, “It would have been used as proof.”

Hakim nodded, “It would be for the best that they didn’t know it was him.” 

* * *

Sitting back in his chair, the ring twisting in his hands, Hamed watched his wife pace back and forth. She scoffed, fists clenched at her sides, “He nerve of that man, to even put together a plan to go after you!”

“But he didn’t get me,” Hamed injected, “And Nu’man didn’t confirm that I was a target, it was just a-”

“Hamed please,” she stopped him, holding up her hand in his direction with a glare, “You know you were the target. Why else go after a simple couriers group?”

He sat back in silence, no answer for her. She stopped, sighing, and walked over to him. “If there was someone in the palace who reported it back to my father...they must have left before it was decided you wouldn’t make the trip.”

“I don’t like the idea of my father’s notions being correct…”

A small smile graced her lips, her hand cradling his cheek, “And you know that I agree with you. But this squabble between the two has escalated...and with them having Jafar…”

His hand grasped hers, “They can’t know it is him. Your father only saw him once and it was brief. And years ago, he couldn’t…” His voice trailed off as he watched Sabira’s face morph into a panic. “What?”

Rushing from his side, she crossed the room and kneeled down at small draw. Ripping the top cabinet open, she dug through the items within. He followed, peering over her back to catch a glimpse. Her hands were full of different letters, old and new alike. She would briefly scan over them before tossing them aside, searching. 

“Sabira, what are you doing?” He asked, picking up one of the discarded letters. His eyes scanned over the words, “Are these letters from your father?”

“Yes.” Her answer was clipped, digging through the second draw. He watched her pick up another letter and freeze, eyes widening. Slowly, she stood up and held out the letter for him, hand trembling. “Hamed…”

Taking the letter, his read over the words. It was dated only two years ago, most likely one of the last letters her father had sent to her before the tension between the two kingdoms began to grow. Nothing jumped out to him, questions regarding the kingdom and how he and Jasmine were. Hamed looked up at his wife in confusion. “I don’t understand, there isn’t any-”

“The last paragraph.”

He had never seen Sabira like this. There were tears welling in her eyes, her expression crestfallen. His eyes gazed back down to the letter. 

_‘Speaking of your husband, how is that little street rat that he brought in? Is he still his little messenger? I’m sure he had grown by now, given how long it has been. I’ve even heard word that he’s even travelling in the prince’s stead! Is this true my daughter? It continues to fascinate me why your husband brought a boy like him in. But no matter. I have no doubt our paths will cross again.’_

His hear stopped. The letter shook in his hand as he felt his body tremble. His eyes met Sabira’s, whose hands were shaking. “I-it only crossed my mind when I was re-reading his letters the other night,” she stuttered, stepping toward him, “He had to know. Tha-that even if you weren’t going to be on that trip…”

“That Jafar would be.”

\----------

_“Thank you.”_

_When they had returned to the palace, Hamed sent Jafar off with some of the servants, explaining to them that he would need new clothing, a bath, and some food. He relayed this information to Jafar, who seemed nervous at first to leave his side, before agreeing. Those brown eyes didn’t leave his until they had turned a corner, taking the boy and the servant girls from his sight._

_While he was gone, Hamed arranged a space for the child to live in among the other messengers from the palace. He discussed with Nu’man what had happened in the market, the older guard giving him a confused look._

_“And you brought him to the palace?” He asked._

_“He was smart enough to fool some of your guards,” Hamed argued with a smirk, “With some guidance...he could be a bright young man.”_

_He hadn’t bothered with telling his father yet, that could wait until the next day._

_Which had brought them to the meal they were sharing. The amazement in the child’s eyes as the food sat before him almost made him laugh, but he thought better of it. It was normal for him, someone who had access to anything his heart desired._

_For Jafar and other people within the kingdom...they didn’t have that privilege._

_The voice had been like a whisper, so faint that Hamed almost missed it. Turning, he looked down at Jafar, who had shoved some food in his mouth._

_“Did you say something Jafar?” He asked, leaning over on the table, “and slow down. I don’t want you to choke on your food.”_

_Jafar froze mid-chew and he couldn’t help laugh at the comical image._

_The boy swallowed, a blush reddening his cheeks as he pushed some of his curly locks back from his face. “Thank you...you didn’t have to bring me here,” his words were slow, nervous, and he only looked up at him once, “I’ll do my best.”_

_Smiling, Hamed rose from his seat and walked to the boy’s side of the table. He knelt down, hand resting on his head. The blush on Jafar’s cheeks only grew, unsure how to deal with the situation._

_“There’s no need to thank me Jafar. I know you’ll do your best. And if there’s anything you need,” he rubbed his head affectionately, a small smile growing on Jafar’s face, “I’ll be there to help.”_

\----------

The letter fell from his grasp, sitting at his feet on the ground. Those years ago, when he found that boy on the streets, tears in his eyes, Hamed thought he would be helping him. Bringing him in, allowing Jafar to work alongside him. To have something that he could call a home, a possible better life. 

But all he had done was drag him into a conflict that could cost Jafar his life. 

And there was nothing he could do to save him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes. I've been wanting to write this chapter so badly! We knew in the movie that Jafar stated that he was in a Shirabad jail for 5 years but never said how he got there. So I went with this angle. Hope you guys liked, I tried to sprinkle in some cute flashbacks and moments cause I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be super sad.
> 
> The name for Hakim's father actually comes from the name of the actor who played Hakim. Weird maybe but I liked it...so there you go!


	5. Tortured Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning to everyone, this one gets a little dark. For obvious reasons. There are mentions of torture, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you may want to skip it. There are also some small mentions of what the Sultan of Shirabad thinks of the prince's and Jafar's relationship that may make people uncommfortable? There's also a brief moment when someone gets on top of Jafar, but it doesn't go anywhere beyond that. If any of that bothers you in anyway, just turn away from the chapter. I totally understand. The story is still rated Teen because I don't go into that much detail. I try to keep it vague.

Darkness. 

It was all he knew. Each passing day, his vision swam in the darkness of the small stone cell he sat in. No slivers of sunlight could squeeze past the stones that kept him trapped, wasting away with each passing moment. How long had he been in this confined space? Time was a blur. When they threw him in this cell, they did it with the purpose to drive him mad. 

Or kill him. Whatever came first. 

His back was pressed against the wall, the stones digging into the scars littering his back. Knees pulled up to his chest, arms resting over the top of them. His eyelids were heavy, the strength he used to fight and keep them awake waning. The sounds of the guard's boots scuffing against the dirt beyond his prison's door were absent today. No food or water had been provided to him yet as well. 

Maybe they forgot about him. It wouldn't surprise him. 

A grin crept slowly on his face, licking his chapped lips. Everyone forgot about him eventually. 

* * *

The moment he opened his eyes, an uneasy feeling sat in the pit of Jafar's stomach. It lingered with him their group packed for the last stretch of their journey back to Agrabah. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his eyes gazed out into the wastelands of the massive desert that surrounded them. It felt as if eyes were watching the, boring into his back, but he couldn't pinpoint from where. 

Jafar gripped the reigns on his camel tighter, knuckles white. 

“Navid,” he called to the courier in front of him, who shot him back a look, “How much longer before we are back within the kingdom’s land?”

“Eager to get back so quickly?” The older man asked with a grin, “With the weather we have, I would say a few ho-”

“Ambush!”

Iago's cry rang through his ears, a chill racing down his spine. Jafar whipped his head around, Iago circling above him, and his eyes widened as a group of men on horses approached them with incredible speed. He cursed himself. Their group were like sitting ducks, their camels only moving so fast. Every scenario that ran through his mind failed. There was no way to avoid the ambushers. 

Jumping from the camel with easy, Jafar let out a whistling, lifting up his arm as Iago quickly landed on his forearm. The parrot's black eyes were trained on him, waiting for a command from his master. "Go to the palace," he instructed urgently, the other couriers preparing themselves around him, "tell them what has happened. An ambush. Repeat it!"

 

“Ambush!” He repeated, his redwings unfurling. 

“Go!” Jafar threw his arm in the air, the macaw taking to the skies. The creature quickly flapped its wings and soared through the cloudless skies. Their only hope vanishing. 

The other men pulled out their weapons, but he knew it would do them no good. There was no escape. But they wouldn't go without putting up a fight. 

Unsheathing his own dagger, Jafar's eyes fell on their attackers who approached. His heart was racing, his grip on the handle of the dagger white-knuckled. Who would be attacking them, all the way out in these dunes? There wasn't a city for miles. It could be thieves, but their horses seemed too fine for a small group. 

The details he was able to make out on their clothing as the group surrounded them made Jafar's blood run cold. 

Shirabad soldiers.

How had they known they were going to be here? Only a few within the palace knew of the exact route they would be taking, for a situation like this. Which meant that someone had informed Shirabad’s sultan. Who seemingly sent these soldiers to attack them. But why? There was no one amon-

Jafar's mind froze, heart sinking. The prince was supposed to be with them. Whoever told Shirabad of the prince's plans hadn't stayed within the palace for long to provide them with this information. With their target gone, he didn't know what this group would do with them. 

It wasn't anything that could be good for them.

The small group was overwhelmed and the soldiers circled them slowly. There were five of them, heavily armed. “Where is your prince?” One of them yelled, a snake-like smile spreading over his face. The man's eyes, which were black as the night sky, lingered on Jafar. Uneasiness washed over him, a flicker in those eyes that disgusted him. He clenched his jaw, unblinkingly glaring back at the man, fists balled up at his sides. 

“Obviously not here.” Jafar's reply was short, sneering at the attacker.

The solider's glare turned venomous. Clicking his tongue, his horse stopping, the man climbed down from the animal. He unsheathed the dagger that sat on his hip and slowly approached Jafar, who didn't flinch, his own dagger in front of him. "You think you're smart boy?" He hissed, "Think you're funny?"

The man lunged forward quickly, swiping the dagger over Jafar's hand. He cried out, his last line protection falling, and grabbed his hand. Blood seeped through his fingers, the strike cutting into his skin with ease. He clenched his teeth, glaring at the man. "Just answering your question." His voice was calming, dripping with sarcasm. He could feel the eyes of his companions on him, unsure how to act. 

His attacker skimmed the blood coated tip of the dagger over Jafar's exposed neck. Their eyes stayed locked, a battle of wills, as the man curved up past his jaw and to Jafar's cheek. The tip dug into the skin and was slowly dragged up the side of the young man's face. Jafar's teeth ground together, fighting back the cry that sat in his throat from the pain. A sickness shimmered in the man's eyes, the grin on his face growing with each moment. 

Pain exploded in his stomach. The dagger was torn away from his face as his attacker's knee slammed into Jafar's stomach. The young man cried out, losing his balance and fell forward. In an instant, the same knee hit him square between his eyes and he felt himself fall backward. His heels left the sand and he felt his back slam into the sand as the cries of his companions echoed in his ears. Black spots danced in his vision as he laid on the sand, looking up at the bright blue sky above him. 

His attacker's shadow crept over him, the man staring down at him with a smirk that sent chills through his body. The blood running down his cheek, Jafar could do nothing as his vision slowly faded to black, falling into darkness.

\------------------

Princess  Sabira had told him of her home kingdom a few times. It was a topic that touched a nerve with her. The faraway look in her eyes as she described the people of the land told him everything he needed to know. She longed to see it again. The issues with her father had put a strain on their relationship. But she would tell Jafar about the towering walls in the palace's throne room, the pillars that were lined with gold that stood as the kingdom's most prized treasure. 

Jafar had longed to see it one day. But not like this. 

Standing in the middle of the throne room, arms shackled behind his back, his gaze took in every detail they could. The walls were lined with carvings of different animals, some familiar to him, others not. He couldn't help but be impressed. If it were another time, he would take the time to admire the craftsmanship. 

The throne room layout reminded him of the main hall in Agrabah's palace. There was a staircase, leading up to two massive gold-framed doors. Inbetween the bottom of the staircase and those doors was an island, with a throne that made Jafar want to roll his eyes. Compared to Agrabah's own sultan, it seemed like a showy item that wasn't necessary. 

The ceilings, which he quickly glanced up at, were just how the princess described to him. Decorated with paintings that told the story of Shirabad, people depicted cheering as the kingdom continued to flourish. It made his stomach roll, though he didn't understand why. This room unsettled him. Everything about this situation was fille him with dread.  

His gaze flickered to the sides of the room, any exit he could find covered by a guard. They were armed with spears, swords sitting on their hips. One each side of him, soldiers stood, their hands clasped behind their backs. His attacker from the desert was nowhere in sight, which put him at ease, if only slightly. He pushed that aside, focusing on the situation at hand. Separated from the other couriers as soon as they passed through the palace walls, he ran escape strategies over and over in his head. If he would have to find them in the maze of the palace walls or leave them behind. 

Jafar frowned, banishing that thought from his mind. He wouldn’t leave them. 

The doors at the top of the stairs slowly opened, Jafar turning his eyes to the figure that walked through. The man was older with pristine white robes that were weaved with red and gold lining along the edges. A grey beard framed the man's face as he slowly walked down the steps, his eyes trained on Jafar. A chill went down his spine as the dark eyes lingered on him. Something sinister swam through them. A smile crept over the man's face. 

“I ask for a prince and you bring me this...rat from the street?”

Jafar’s eyes widen for a moment before schooling his features. Did he know? How could he know? It had been years since Jafar had seen the sultan at the prince and princess' wedding. Though they had met, the moment had been fleeting. Unmemorable. Fear slowly seeped into his stomach. 

“The prince was not with them my sultan,” a soldier out of his eyesight responded, “It seems that there was a last-minute change to their trip.”

Ths Sultan slowly made his way down the massive steps, his lips pursed. “A shame. This would have gone smoother with him here,” he murmured, hand rubbing over his beard. He stopped mere feet from Jafar, his eyes flickering up and down his body “We could still make it work though. What with the prince’s messenger boy here.”

Jafar clenched his teeth but kept silent. They had planned to use the prince as a bargaining tool? What did this man think to gain from that? It would spell out war between the two kingdoms. 

“Jafar, wasn’t it?”

His eyes snapped up, meeting the sultan’s. Panic swept over him. The sneer on the sultan's face only caused it to grow. “Yes, the little rat that my darling daughter’s husband brought from the streets. I thought to myself all those years ago, why bother? But looking at you now…”

Disgust rolled over Jafar as the soldiers around them snickered. He could feel his nails digging into the palm of his hands, tearing at the skin. They were toying with him. Messing with his mind, poking him until he broke. In his mind, he knew that he had to keep himself calm. They couldn't break him. But that disgust was only building rage within him. Jafar's expression darkened as he glared at the older man.

This only seemed to delight the sultan. The older man's smile was gleeful, stepping toward him. “Oh you’re a silent plaything aren’t you? I’m sure Hamed appreciated that when he would take you to his ro-”

Jafar's feet moved before he can think better of it. Lunging at the sultan, his shoulder lowered, he was inches away from making contact when his body slammed to the ground. Blood pooled in his mouth, his lip busted open, and he felt the tip of a knife pressed into his throat. There was shouting above him, but it was muffled. The pounding behind his eyes was unbearable. 

The collar of his tunic was yanked back, Jafar forced to sit back on his knees. Vision blurred, he had to blink a few times for everything to regain focus. His eyelids were heavy and tried to close when a hand forceable grabbed his face. The sultan's thumb dug into the unhealed cut on his cheek, Jafar hissing from the pain.  

The sultan kneeled before him, bringing their faces inches apart. His hot breath lingered in Jafar's mouth, making him almost gag. “You’re a feisty one. I can see why he liked you. But I think it’s time rat,” the sultan's grip tightened, his lips at Jafar's ear.  He felt his body begin to involuntarily shake. “That you remembered your place.”

\------------------

The days all blurred into one after that point. 

The guards had dragged him down to the dungeons, throwing him in a cell with nothing but the clothing on his back. They took his boots, which seemed to be very humorous among the guards. Their mocking laughs echoed off the walls as they left him laying on the dirt. At first, he tried to find a way to escape. Testing the bars, checking the cracks between any of the stones that lined the walls. With each passing moment, his hope faded. Laying back down on the dirt, he gazed up at the stone ceiling for hours. 

_They’ll come for you._

It was the only mantra that made him stay sane. 

There were two meals a day, one cup of water provided in the morning or afternoon. Each day he marked the wall, trying to keep track as one day faded into the next. The wall was littered with lines. There were times when he would miss days, his body too tired from the torture the guards put him through that day. 

Every day, the same two guards would drag him from his cell. At first, he had fought back. Digging his feet into the dirt floor as they tried to take him from the cell. Lashing out when they tried to grab him. One time he had punched a guard in the nose, breaking it. For a moment, he felt triumphant. It quickly dissolved into searing pain as they whipped his back with a fury he hadn't known before.  

Whipping was their favorite. The cruel delight in their faces as they would shackle Jafar's outstretched arms had revolted him. The first few sessions, as the leather would rip into his back and send his body into shock, he refused to cry out. That was exactly what they wanted and he wouldn't allow them to have the satisfaction. Every day, they would attempt to break him. It was when spikes were added to the whips did he crumble. 

They dug into his bag and dragged across his body. The screams that erupted from his throat were raw, tears tracking down his face as his body felt as if it was on fire. Their laughs would echo through the room as they continued, each spike embedding itself into his skin tearing away any hope he had held onto. Even when his knees would buckle, leaving him dangling from his wrists, they would continue. 

Each time, he would be thrown back into his cell. The wounds on his back would ooze with blood, seeping into the dirt that lay below him. His breaths would come out in wheezes, trying to calm his rampant heart from bursting through his chest. 

The other couriers were killed. He didn’t know when or how, but they had leaned over him one day, mocking him with the information. The guards only kept him because of his association with the prince. 

Jafar wouldn’t allow himself to grow weak. If he broke, everything would be lost. When the guards wouldn't visit him and his wounds healed over a few days, he would pace his cell. When the guards weren't looking, he would perform pushups or other exercises to himself in shape. If they broke his body, it would only be a matter of time before they broke him entirely. He would force himself to eat the disgusting food that was provided to him each day. It was what he needed to survive. It was like being back on the streets, clawing for anything to continue to live. 

“Still no word from your beloved prince,” the sultan taunted with a smile, leaning against his cell. Jafar would ignore the older man when he came down to the dungeons, his voice laced with venom. A laugh passed the older man's lips, “He’s probably forgotten about you and moved onto some other boy on the streets. They are easy to find.”

Silently, Jafar seethed. His fists balled together at his sides, uncut nails digging into the skin. With each passing word from the sultan, he planned a new way to kill the man and the guards. It would be slow. He would tower about the older man as stepped on him like a rat. Plunging a dagger through the man's heart or sitting back and watching him slowly die from a poison he slipped into the man's drink. Watching the light fade from the old man's eyes as he had the last laugh. 

Until then, he just glared at them all, emotionless.

The wall slowly began to run out of room. The sultan’s visits came less frequently. The two guards who had tortured him every day, hour after hour, faded into a memory. No one came to him. He sat back in his cell, wasting away. The tattered shirt they had left him was crusted with dried blood and dirt. The scars on his back begging to be scratched, though he feared reopening them. 

Each passing day, Jafar felt his faith waning away. The mantra that he had repeated to himself since the day he was brought to this cell was nothing but fool's gold. They would come for him, wouldn't they? The prince wouldn't leave him to suffer in here. The older man would never do that,  Jafar's heart clung to that idea. 

That fear began to grow. The whispering voice of doubt creeping into his mind. 

Could the prince leave him here to die?

 ------------------

The dungeons, even at night, felt like they were simmering with the heat of the lingering sun that had left the sky hours ago. The air was uncomfortably humid, providing Jafar little comfort as he tried to catch a moment of rest. His eyes lids felt heavy as he dozed off in the corner of the cell, wrapping his arms around his lower torso. 

Faint footsteps found his ears but he paid them no mind. It wasn't uncommon for a guard to make the rounds at this time of night. 

The creaking metal of his cell door opening made him become alert. Snapping his eyes open, he felt a hand digging into the fabric of his shirt and throwing him into the ground. Jafar cried out, the wounds on his back not fully healed from the whipping a few days before, and stars dotted over his vision. Dazed, he felt someone's body wait on top of him, straddling him, and his blood ran cold when the flash of a blade caught his eye.  

“Keep yourself quiet you rat.”

His eyes widened, locked with the venomous eyes that had craved into his skin all those days ago. How long had it been since he saw this man that started his own personal hell? Once again, he had a knife to Jafar's face, skimming along the same cheek he had cut into before. It traced down his neck slowly, Jafar swallowing slowly to keep himself calm. The blade slide through the fabric that was left of his shirt. The man, who looked as if he was drunk, traced his hand along Jafar's chest. 

Jafar's breath hitched. 

“Even now you’re a pretty little thing…” The man hissed slurringly, the tip of the dagger digging into his chest. 

An adrenaline rush came over him. Jafar quickly grabbed the man's shoulder, rolling him over and switched positions with him as the other man yelled out. He wrestled the dagger out of the other man's hand and plunged it into his side, where there was no armor or chainmail to protect him. The man screamed out, trying to wrestle the dagger from his own side and Jafar's hand. With ease, Jafar stood above the man and slammed his foot into his face. Blood burst from the attacker's nose and lip, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. 

The cell door had been left open. Stumbling, grasping the bars, Jafar pushed himself as hard as his legs would carry him. The corridors within the dungeon were a maze. It had been too long since he was last outside his cell and he felt himself running in a circle. A door caught his eye and he prayed for it to be an exit. He was greeted with a dead-end, different chairs and helmets littering the small space. 

Tracing his hand along a wall, resided to his fate, he found himself below a grate. The moonlight streamed in from the full moon that lingered in the sky. His exit was so close. It mocked him. It was too high up for him to climb, nothing on the walls worth grasping at. His feet were cut up from running down the dirt floors. The wounds on his back were burning, reopened with all his sudden movements. 

There was nowhere for him to go. 

Eventually, they found him and dragged him back to his cell. They threw him harshly to the ground, which he noted had a pool of blood lingering toward the middle. Where he had stabbed his attacker. A laugh rumbled from his chest, breaking into a hysterical laugh as the guards locked him back within the iron walls. 

All of them would end up like his attacker. Outsmarted. Begging for mercy. Bleeding on the ground as he stood above them, a smirk stretching along his face with satisfaction. Their cries would come on deaf ears. Their suffering would span years. They would get what was coming to them.

Anyone who mocked him would feel his wrath. 

\------------------

The guards hadn’t taken kindly to him killing one of their own.

The next morning, he was roughly awoken by a group of them and dragged off to the cells with the shackles he loathed. Each hit became harder and harder, their rage erupting from them. It wasn't only his back. They had stripped him down and any open skin was a target. His skin was ripped raw and the only thing keeping him conscious was when the leather ripped through another part of him. His throat was raw from screaming, dried tear tracks on his cheeks.  

One of the guards produced a dagger from his robes, the tip of it lingering over a candle. The metal glower orange, the heat contained within the metal scorching. Slowly, they would cut into him, a new wave of pain rushing over Jafar. His chest, side, quads were all cut through, the wounds oozing blood that trickled down his body. Enough to scar him, but not kill him. 

“It’s what a rat like you deserve,” a guard hissed at him, Jafar's chin in the man's hands. He knelt beside Jafar, a twisted smile on his face, _**"Know your place."**_

Jafar lay there like a rag doll, his mind numb. The man’s laugh echoed in his mind. **_“Know your place.”_ **

Those words, along with the man's laugh, echoed through his mind as he laid on the ground. There wasn't one bone in his body that didn't feel like it was on fire. The mere thought of sitting up made him tired. His faint hope was slowly dying with each passing day. 

After another round of torture, they dragged him past his normal cell. At the end of the corridor was a wooden door. They pulled it open and threw him in, Jafar's back hitting the stone wall. He gasped, curling up on the ground as the door was closed. Darkness was all he could see. There was no hint of light that could come into the small area. The darkness allowed the guards a momentary advantage when they would come for him, his eyes blinded by the sudden light they couldn't adjust to. 

How long had it been?  

Months? Years?

No one had come for him. 

Jafar rested his head on his knees, curled up against the wall. Blood oozed down the side of his face, slipping into the corner of his mouth. The iron taste that lingered on his tongue made him shiver. An old wound that had reopened when one of the guards backhanded him when they didn't receive the response they wanted from their torture. 

The impact of the man’s rings ripped into his skin. 

He rubbed at the finger that had his own ring on it at one point in time. How he missed it. It was one of the things he could call his own. Though the ring wasn't an extravagant piece, it was special to him. When he had seen it in the market place those years ago, he knew it had to be his. It reminded him of the prince's, though the color of the stone was different. When he had shown it to the prince, the older man's face lite up. He admired the ring, the smile on his face causing a wave of happiness to crash over Jafar. He had returned the smile with his own, slipping the ring on his finger. 

Things had been simpler then. 

 _He was never going to come for a street rat like you._ The mocking voice that taunted him every day whispered, lingering at the edge of his mind.  _How could you fool yourself?_

“No…” he mumbled, biting his lip, “He wouldn’t...leave me like this.”

 _Why not?_ The voice asked in a mocking tone, laughing at him. _You’re nothing to them. Just a boy off the streets that worked at the palace. Did you think he cared for you?_

“You’re wrong.” He growled, gripping his arms tightly, “Baba...he cares.”

 _“Baba”?_ The voice laughed, a sneer in its tone. _Are you some small child now? Look at how far you have fallen. If you’re “baba” cares so much for you, then why hasn’t he saved you?_   _If it was little Jasmine or Princess Sabira, he would move heaven and earth to save them. But you?_

Jafar felt his lip tremble and he bit into it, causing blood to trickle down. The voice was wrong. Baba would come. He had to come. Take him away from this place and back to Agrabah, where he would recover in the safety of the palace walls. Baba had promised to be with him, that if he needed help, he would be there. Why would he lie?

He had never lied to Jafar before. 

 _He just pitied you. You mean nothing to him._  

Shaking, Jafar felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. He hid his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, unable to control the wave of realization coming over him. The hope he had lingered onto for so long vanished through his fingers. Everything he had fought for, to keep himself from breaking, crumbled around him. 

Prince Hamed wasn’t coming. No one was coming.

Jafar would be left here in the darkness to die. Forgotten.

Like he always was. 

\------------------

The worst dreams were the ones that, for a fleeting moment, brought his small glimmer of hope back. Dangling it in front of him, just out of his reach before snatching it away. The dreams were always the same. The prince would arrive, concern on his face, and he would save him from this place. Gathering him in his arms and whisk him back to Agrabah. Whispering to him how sorry he was it had taken him so long. 

It was a fantasy. He knew it was, but in his dreams those moments it felt good. When he would wake up, the warmth of the idea lingering in his chest, he would fight to keep from breaking all over again.  

But as he would think about it more, anger would consume him. They had left him here to rot, to die. To suffer through the lashings, of his skin being ripped open again and again until it felt like his nerves were on fire. For his throat to be so raw from screaming that he could taste the blood in his mouth at night. Or the cut of a dagger sinking into his skin, leaving him with scars lingering over his whole body. Degrading him. 

They probably mocked him back at court. All those idiotic delegates who stared at him as he walked with the prince, whispering among themselves. The guards who scoffed at him when he asked to be trained to become a palace guard. _“Run back to your library little boy.”_  They said, patting him on the shoulder and pushing him away. The servant girls would laugh at him when his back was turned it took everything within him not to scream back at them. 

Sabira, who thought she knew so much about him. He could see it now when he thought back to it, the mocking nature in her eyes. Like her father’s sneer. There was no hiding her true nature. She most likely mocked him while talking to Hamed, while he was out of the room. 

They didn’t have the nerve to do it to his face.

The anger he had buried deep within himself began to grow more and more with each passing day. Everyone had turned against him. He had put his heart out to the world and it had taken it and thrown it to the ground, shattering it. Leaving him with nothing.

Nothing but his anger. His vengeance. His need for power.

He would have it all. All those that mocked him would rue the day that they did. Because he would crush them for underestimating him. For thinking he was nothing more then some rat from the streets. 

He would prove them all wrong. 

It was the only thing keeping him going.

* * *

Footsteps were coming down the corridor.

Jafar’s head had been leaned back, unruly curly hair bouncing in front of his eyes. The footfalls were unfamiliar to him. He had grown accustomed to the footfalls of the guards that were on duty within the dungeons. There was a heaviness to them, from the stature of their bodies and the making of the boots. They enjoyed letting their presence be known to him as they would linger beyond the door. 

This was different. 

The footfalls stopped outside his door. The jingling of keys caught his ears. Different keys were tried, with each failed attempt a growl following it. It must have been a new guard on duty. It would explain the lateness of the visit, the footsteps, and the confusion with the keys. 

The clicking of the key echoed off in the small cell. The deadbolts of the door were quickly pulled and Jafar sighed, preparing himself for his momentary blindness. 

The door opened slowly and Jafar squinted his eyes, his hand covering them to protect himself from the light. He waited for the familiar feeling of the guard's hands garbing his arms, drawing him from his spot in the cell to the corridor to his new round of pain. 

Nothing happened.

Jafar blinked, removing his hand and squinted at the silhouette at the doorway. It was hard to see, his eyes not completely adjusted to the light. The figure was tall, a helmet resting on top of their head. Which was odd. Shirabad guards didn't wear their helmets down in the dungeons. 

“Oh my…” the figured trailed off, turning his head away from him. “Quickly, down here!”

  
The loud voice made Jafar jump. He sat back, picking at his ragged pants leg, and squinted up at the man in the doorway. His profile seemed familiar. But he couldn’t place it. The clothing was familiar as well, the golden plate sitting on the man’s chest with chainmail surrounding it. It reminded him of a garden, a man with a small smile on his face as he waved a sword playfully in his direction. 

“My sultan, maybe you should…” The man’s voice trailed off when another figure joined him in the doorway. 

Jafar felt himself freeze. His breathing hitched. It couldn't be real. There was no possible way. It was a dream. It had to be. He would wake up any moment and be left back in the darkness, his hope fading into it and dying again. 

Prince Hamed stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Jafar…?”

His mouth felt dry. He sat there in silence, unsure of what to say. If this was even real. Because if it wasn’t and he allowed himself to fall for such a cruel trick...it would destroy him. 

It needed to be real, it had to be real. 

Hamed took a few steps toward him before the other man had grabbed his arm. “My sultan…” Worry lingered into the man's voice, his eyes not leaving Jafar. 

“Hakim. It’s alright.”

Jafar’s eyes widened. Hakim was here? The man had Hakim's familiar nose, the small mole that rested under his eye. His stern gaze softened as he let go of the prince's arm, staring back at Jafar with disbelief flooding his eyes. 

This couldn’t be real, it would be too good. It was all too good, it had to be a dream. A cruel dream. 

Hamed knelt down in front of him, tears welling up in his eyes. There were small differences that Jafar noticed. There were wrinkles under his eyes, along with some noticeable bags that darkened his skin. His beard, which had been a deep brown when they last saw each other, was peppered with grey streaks and specks. His clothing was different as well, heavier from what he remembered. Like his father’s. 

“Jafar?”

His voice, how long it had been since he heard it. When was the last time someone had said his name aloud? 

A hand was held out for him and Jafar noticed the ring on one of the fingers, the red jewel that adorned it. The ring that was meant for the Sultan of Agrabah. 

His eyes widened, his gaze meeting the former prince’s. The same kind eyes from all those years ago in the market. The eyes which had brought him in and taught him, cared for him. That he longed to see one more time. That haunted his dreams almost every night when he tried to sleep. Because if he were to ever see those eyes again, he knew he would crack. 

“Hamed…” He licked his cracked lips. It was almost too good to be true. “Is this…”

As if reading his mind, the former prince let out a watery laugh. He nodded, “This is very real Jafar.”

Cautiously, his hand reached out and grasped Hamed’s. His grip was weak, but he squeezed with as much strength as he could. A smile broke out on the older man’s face. 

Slowly, Jafar stood up. Hamed had stepped closer, guiding him up carefully. It felt as if his knees were going to buckle, his legs weak from their lack of use. The room was too small for him to continue to pace back and forth as he had once done. 

Hamed carefully grasped both of Jafar's arms, his eyes not leaving the young man's face. He took in every inch, every mark, and Jafar couldn't meet his eyes. Shame rolled over him. The prince probably thought him a disgrace, unable to escape this place himself. How would he explain that he wanted to so many times and each time h-

Warm arms wrapped carefully around Jafar's chest, pulling the young man close. Surprised, Jafar felt his eyes widened as his head rested on the prince's shoulder. This warmth was unfamiliar to him, a ghost from the past. It sunk into his bones, the realization of the situation setting in. Jafar wrapped his own arms around the prince, his hands grabbing at the back of Hamed's robes. Anything to prove this was real, that Hamed was real. He felt his hand trembling and it took him a moment to realize his whole body was. 

Tears were rolling down his cheeks, his breathing coming in gasps as he hid his face in the prince's shoulder, trying to hide it away. It was all too much. Every moment, every lashing, every cruel word faded from him, if only for a short time. He had given up hope long ago. 

“I’m sorry I took so long…” Hamed's voice whispered in his ear, cracking at the end of his sentence. His hands lightly rubbed circles into Jafar's back, disgust rolling over him when he brushed over the raised skin that littered the man's body. 

“I’m so sorry Jafar.”

At that moment, within that cell, it was the two of them clinging to each other. It wasn't just a dream. The lifeline he had held onto for so long finally came for him. The people he longed to see came to save him. There would be no more prison. No more whips ripping his skin, dagger craving into his body. He would return to Agrabah with the prince, a free man. 

The little bit of faith that he clung to had come through.

But the anger that had festered would become too powerful to ignore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That got dark. I told y'all it would happen. This is where Jafar will start to change, that anger he's been trying to hold back for so long won't be ignored anymore. But you know Jafar, he's just good at hiding it from everyone. Also, the country of Shirabad I'm sure is a delighful place, it's just the Sultan who's a big ol' dick. Like the former Sultan of Agrabah, but we've moved past them. 
> 
> Baba - Papa (in Arabic) I used this because Marwan had mentioned in an interview with EW that Jafar obviously looked up and respected the Sultan. "Baba", from my understanding, can also be used for an elder or respectful term of endearment. Jafar mockingly says it to him in the movie, after he's become the most powerful sorcerer, but I could see him using the term when he was a small child when thinking of Hamed. But never to Hamed's face, just to himself.


	6. A Snake within Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Street rat. A messenger. Prisoner of war. Grand Vizier of Agrabah.
> 
> Jafar was all of these things. But he wanted more than that. He would be second to no one. He would be the most powerful man in the room. Because without that, he was nothing.

Books sat scattered on the ground of the room. Tattered pages marked in different spots, notes written within the sentences. In the window alcove, Jafar sat with a book in his lap, his one leg crossed over the other. His eyes skimmed the lines, the quill in his hand underlining a sentence that he came upon. 

In the time he had returned to Agrabah, he had moved up into the high council. The first few months of his return had been resting, learning what had transpired while he was captured. The two sultan’s had battled, trying to prove which kingdom was the strongest between the two. There were battles, men on both sides lost. Hakim had explained to him that at one point, Hamed had enough. He had confronted his father, arguing before he had to be dragged away from the elder man. 

In a short time, the sultan of Agrabah passed away. Along with the sultan of Shirabad. Jafar found it to be too much of a coincidence. He had brought it up with Hakim who held his stare for a long, silent moment. “It is funny how fate allows these things to happen.”

Jafar had been rescued when Hamed had come to sign the treaty that was once again in effect between the two kingdoms. Brought back to Agrabah, his body healed. But his mind raced. There were nights where he would wake up, biting his fist to muffle his screams. 

Resting couldn’t heal the anger in his soul. 

As he did when he first arrived at the palace, Jafar spent his time with books. He would sit in the library for hours, learning anything he could relating to the kingdom. He would review the daily reports that would be provided to the sultan, learning the day to day of the land. What needed to be improved, how the funds were spent, what kingdoms they were in contact with. 

It allowed him to get the upper hand. Thought he was already by Hamed’s side, Jafar strove to prove himself among the others on the council. He would sit back, listening to the back and forth between the members, arguing over who’s proposal would be best for the kingdom. Hamed sat there, the picture of the perfect sultan, but he would catch the older man’s shoulder slumping or a tired sigh escaping him from time to time. 

The fools didn’t understand the power that they had, what could be achieved with just a few words. Their petty squabbling would mean nothing. If they couldn’t hold the interest of the sultan, what use were they?

“You didn’t participate too much in today’s meeting Jafar.” Hamed noted one night as they sat together. They were within the gardens, a table separating them. His eyes met the older man’s, a small bit of amusement shining in them.

“There didn’t seem much time to get in a word between the other members.” He snorted, taking a sip of his tea. He turned the glass in his hand, shaking his head, “As much as I enjoy listening to them discuss for the hundredth time where the new statue should be in the city…”

Hamed nodded, a small smile on his face as he chuckled, “It can be tiring, especially regarding something so trivial. But you always have a good point to provide.”

The grip he had on his glass tightened. His expression didn’t flinch, his gaze lingering on the sultan. It was so easy for him to say. Hamed didn’t hear the whispers of mockery that Jafar heard after meetings, the lingering gazes the other’s shot at him when his back was turned. 

_ ‘He pities that boy, that’s why he sits with us.’ _

_ ‘The sultan will allow anyone to sit amongst us, even some dirty little…’ _

Jafar sat back in his chair, eyes lingering on the full moon above them. “If there is a point I have to add,” a crooked smile had spread across his lips, “have no doubt that I will make it.”

It was why he sat in this window alcove, reading over one of the many books he had found within the deepest parts of the kingdom’s marketplace. Sorcery within the kingdom was taboo, a subject that was spoken with hushed whispers among the people. It was something he had taken notice of when he was on the streets, wandering through different parts of the city. Tales of caves of gold, mystic powers unlike anyone had ever seen. Beings with the power to grant anything the heart wished. 

The latter seemed a bit far fetched to the young man. 

The book on his lap was one he found in one of the poorer parts of the city. It had been simple for him to sneak out one night under the cover of darkness, his old thieving skills coming back to him with ease. The cloak he wore disguised him, along with the beard that he was allowing to grow in. Many of the citizens didn’t recognize him, being away from the public eye for so long. 

The older man who provided him with the books warned him of the dangers. “I’ve seen many a man fall prey to the powers whispers…” He mumbled.

Bowing his head, a smile graced Jafar’s lips, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Every page he turned intrigued him more. The potions, amulets, spells, there were hundreds of different ways these things could be used. They could provide advantages over any other kingdom that would ever try to come up against them. Allow them to become more powerful, so that they would fear the kingdom of Agrabah. 

They would fear him. 

A section that caught his eye was the idea of persuading a person with a simple command. A spell needed to be cast over an object, which would in turn provide the user with the power to bring a person into their control. If he were to use such power, the object in question needed to not cause suspicion. Easy enough to have with him at all times. 

 His eyes shot up to the staff that leaned in the corner of his room. The snake staff had been an item of his own creation. The sultan had suggested it to him as he recovered, arguing that his legs would need assistance to build their strength. “It would just be for a short time. Then, you can do whatever you want with it.” Hamed had explained, his voice calm as he sat with Jafar. At the time, the idea infuriated him. Was he that weak that he needed help to walk?

The staff would have its use. The trickiest part was trying to figure out when to attempt the spell. 

A knock at his door made him jump, slamming the book shut in his hands. “One moment!” He called, gathering the books and scraps of parchment and stuffing them under his bed. Where was that blasted bird to alert him of someone coming toward his room? 

Smoothing out the sheets and his own clothing, he strode over to the door and opened it. Hakim stood a few feet from the doorway, nodding to him. “Did I interrupt?” He asked, eyeing the younger man’s hand. 

Jafar frowned, looking down and noticed the black smudges. His notes must have not dried in time. “No, I must have accidentally swiped my hand over the parchment I was writing on,” he explained with a wave, attempting to wipe it away with his sleeve, “Is there something you need Hakim?”

“I can’t just come say hello?” His eyebrow rose, his tone playful but stern.

Jafar laughed, leaning up against the doorway, “I would believe it, but you seem to be on duty.”

“True,” Hakim shrugged, “But yes, ths sultan wishes for you to join him and the queen for supper tonight.”

He stilled, the smile on his face slowly falling. The queen. Sabria. Her voice made his skin crawl, her once warm eyes like ice to him now. If there was a chance to avoid her, he took the opportunity. And when he couldn’t, the hatred within him made him itch. It had been her father who took him, her nation that kept him trapped. If Agrabah had never been involved with Shirabad, the war wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have lost five years of his life.

There wouldn’t be the nightmares that kept him up at night. The trembling in his hands when a memory would crash into his mind, losing himself before he calmed his racing heart. It was a hell he continued to live and it always came back to Shirabad. To the sultan. 

To Sabira.

“I...don’t know if I can,” he answered, “There are reports I was catching up o-”

“It’s more than a request,” Hakim interrupted. 

Jafar’s jaw tensed, frowning. “A command?”

The older man shrugged, shaking his head, “A bit in between. He had a feeling you may try and refuse,” he stopped, his gaze catching Jafar’s, “though I’m unsure as to why.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jafar pursed his lips. “I’m used to taking supper alone, allows me...to unwind from the day.” Which was true, in a sense. The days within the palace could be chaotic and most nights were the only times he had to himself. It was an escape for a few hours. 

Hakim’s gaze was sharp, watching him. He continued to be an impossible man for Jafar to read. His schooled features made him the perfect example of a palace guard. But trying to gather information from him through conversation was another challenge. 

“Nonetheless, the sultan has requested your presence. I would advise not avoiding it.” He reiterated, smiling at Jafar’s furrowed brows. “Unless you want me to pay you another visit?”

“Your visits are always appreciated Hakim.”

“I believe you’re one of the few that think that.” He hummed, Jafar chuckling at the answer. Hakim was one of the few people in the palace that he had any tolerance for. A few moments with the high council members or delegates who worked with the sultan irritated him. Their view was small, ambitions weak. It disgusted him how they would willingly stay in the same place when they could so easily move up the ladder, what privilege they had. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter. The fact they did nothing with it enraged him.

Jafar knew Hakim wasn’t like them. He watched him work with his father when he arrived at the palace, the endless hours that he was on duty. A man of true loyalty. Someone who understood the workings of the kingdom, though smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself until they were needed. Smart men like that were hard to find within the walls. 

“Jafar.” Hakim’s stern voice broke him from his thoughts. His eyes were watchful, with a hint of concern. Uncommon for the stoic man. “Have you been sleeping?”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes widened briefly before he forced out a laugh. “Of course. What would make you think I haven’t?”

Their eyes were locked. Hakim’s gaze was hard, thick brows furrowed. “A few of the guards had made mention of seeing you wandering around the halls late at night,” he remarked, “And you seem more tired as of late.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I am fine.” The smile on Jafar’s face was strained. He had been slipping. If the guards had noticed his late night walks, what else had they seen? “Up late reading over reports and proposals. And the walks are for some fresh air, it can become a bit stuffy in this room at night.” 

A moment passed before the guard nodded, accepting the answer. “Of course. But…” He trailed off, contemplating his next words. “If you do find yourself having trouble, I’m usually awake. It gets dull during the late nights.” 

Jafar’s brows rose at the offer. A piece of information to tuck away for a later date. “I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe we can discuss how to use the guards around the market and seaport?”

“Absolutely. Those areas have become a little overrun as of late.” Hakim conceded with a scoff. “I must go. Do make time for supper tonight.”

Jafar smirked, half bowing to him. “As my sultan commands.”

Shaking his head, Hakim turned and walked down the hallway. Jafar watched until his body disappeared around the corner and pinched the bridge of his nose. Supper was the opposite of what he wanted to be wasting his time on. He closed the door, grabbing the books and parchments he had hidden before. His eyes skimmed over the list of things he needed for the spell. Delaying gathering the items brought a tinge of annoyance to him. But Hakim’s visit hadn’t be completely useless. He would have to be more careful when wandering the palace at night, forming better excuses as to why he would be out so late.

“Master!”

The screech made Jafar cringe, turning towards the source. Iago had settled on the windowsill, his head turning any direction. The little black eyes stared at him and he groaned with annoyance. 

“Blasted bird...your timing is perfect as always.” He mumbled, gathering feed in his hand and sitting on the alcove’s edge. Iago’s beak dove into the food, his owner’s eyes rolling. “Did you see anything in the market today?”

“Sultan in the market! Family outing!”

“Yes I know the family went out into the market,” he grumbled, wiping his hand after Iago licked it clean, “They do it every week. Anything else?”

“Thieves in the seaport!”

“So nothing new then.” He rose from the alcove, hands resting on the top of his desk. Small thieves in the seaport or the market meant nothing to him. They were harmless for the most part. 

The spell would have to wait. He couldn’t avoid the supper with the sultan and the queen, as much as he wished to. If they had mercy on him, the event would be short. His gaze lingered on the staff, the gold glittering with the reflection of the sulight. The red crystals that were embedded in the eyes shined. 

“Only a matter of time…”

* * *

 

The supper was testing every nerve in his body. In his mind, he was screaming to be freed from the space. To go back to his room and huddle over his notes, his books, and experimenting the spells he had been studying. On the outside he was calm, the smile on his face strained to the point his cheeks hurt.  All to entertain Hamed and his queen. 

They sat on the balcony of the royal couple’s chambers, candles flickering around to provide light to the darkness that had settled in. The plates of food had been shuffled away and the trio sat with each other at the table, talking. Though most of the conversation was carried by the sultan and his wife. Jafar leaned back in his chair, his turban set aside, a wine glass in his hand. There wasn’t much he could contribute into a conversation about their beloved daughter. 

“I’m not trying to be strict with her Sabira, but she needs to be more careful,” Hamed argued, sipping his own glass, “She almost got run over by a cart today.”

“I’m just...advising you that yelling at her right after it happened may not have been the best approach.” Sabira conceded with a sigh, a small smile tugging on her lips, “Try to be calm and then, if she doesn’t listen, you can...proclaim your statements with a louder tone.”

Jafar’s fingered tapped lightly on the glass, biting his tongue. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She even had the same infliction and pauses as her father. 

“What do you think Jafar?”

The young man’s gaze flickered between the couple. He didn’t really have an opinion regarding how to manage their child. “I would assume that being stern would provide the message you wish to send. But, I don’t have experience in that realm myself.”

Hamed nodded, waving his cup in his young advisor’s direction, “I agree. There should be boundaries set up for her now, to keep her safe until she knows better.”

Sabira took a sip of her wine, rolling her eyes in what Jafar assumed was a playful manner. It seemed more disrespectful to him. She should listen to Hamed more. What right did she have to argue his point?

“Boundaries are a good thing, but let’s not trap her in this space. World experience is good, I’m sure you can agree?” Her eyes landed on Jafar, smiling. “Being able to visit other kingdoms has provided you with good experience Jafar, look at where you are today.”

His grip on his glass tightened. The smile on his face grew, nodding to the queen. “Of course. It has...been invaluable.” He set his cup down with more force then needed. An escape was needed before he came undone. Her presence only disgusted, made the scars on his body pulse. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. But I must retire for the evening, there were still some items I need to review before tomorrow’s meeting. You understand my sultan?”

Hamed’s face crumpled slightly at the suggestion. “So soon Jafar?”

“I apologize, but yes. We could meet together before tomorrow’s council?”

A sadness crossed his gaze that Jafar stilled at. His mind begged for the man not to make him stay here. The escape he needed was just beyond their chamber doors. He could feel the queen’s eyes on him and it took every nerve in his body to not turn and scream at her. 

With a sigh, Hamed nodded. “That would be fine. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

Relief washed over him. Grabbing his turban, he bowed to the couple. “Thank you for inviting me. I will see you in the morning.”

It felt as if he flew from their chambers. Calmly, but quickly, he walked down the hall. He nodded as he passed by the guards that lingered in the doorways. To the untrained eye, the palace was like a maze. But his feet had memorized every hall, every door that was within the walls. Turning down a darkened hallway, Jafar’s eyes scanned the area before he opened a heavy set door. It was littered with locks and different cobwebs. Tightly closing it behind him, he rushed down the spiraling staircase. 

His feet met with the dirt floor of the low lit room. Empty jail cells lined the walls of the dungeon, the unused shackles and chains lingering on the ground. Pacing back and forth furiously, he bit into his hand and let out a muffled scream. His heart pounded in his chest. 

That woman. She was the cause of his problems, with everything. He could see her bending the sultan to her whims, persuading him into situations he wanted to treat differently. It was just what that awful country wanted. Their father’s ambition was still there, he could see it in her eyes. 

Hamed was becoming too weak. Soon he would be spineless and just a puppet for Sabira’s will. It wouldn’t stop there. Jasmine had her way any time she could and she would continue the tradition brought from her mother. Disgust rolled over him. He wouldn’t allow that to happen, the kingdom wouldn’t fall. Others believed they could mettle in the Agrabah’s affairs but they were mistaken. 

He would make them one of the most feared kingdoms in the land. 

His eyes gazed around the room, a crooked smile spreading across his face. No one but him used these old dungeons. There were abandoned. A perfect spot for him to experiment. With haste he would gather the items he needed to cast the spell on his staff and control the power the book promised him. Once that was complete, he would move up within the hierarchy of the high council. The position of the grand vizier would be his. 

But first he would plan how to kill the queen without those fools every knowing it was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was tricky. It's like that inbetween chapter where you have to get something done but you have no idea what. But it's done! I had to stop myself from writing more of Hakim and Jafar cause...I love them, I don'r know how that has happened. Maybe I'll do a seperate oneshot of them, but I'm very into the idea of the two of them. I mean Jafar was so hung up on him, come on. 
> 
> Anyway, are boy is on his way to darkness and evil town. But he's trying to play it cool, let's see how long that works out for him.


	7. Know Your Place

Patience and practice. These were things that Jafar had instilled in himself at a young age living on the streets. Weaving through the marketplace, knowing the best escape routes, what stalls were the easiest to steal from, gathering all that information required patience. An understanding of when the right time would be to strike and flee into the sea of people like a ghost. Patience for waiting on that right moment would be the line between getting caught or making it home with food that could last for days.

Practice allowed for the movements to come with ease, the simple flick of the wrist and the item in question could be snuck into his sleeve, moving through the crowd before the merchant could even notice.There were late nights when he would stay up, when the crowds disappeared, and he would move through the cities alleys, memorizing each one. Jumping over walls, allowing his legs to become used to the impact of the dirt surface he was landing on. It all had become second nature because it had to be. 

These were the qualities that had pushed him to be in the position he was in now. Second only to the sultan, the Grand Vizier of Agrabah. 

But even his practiced patience could run thin. 

At first, he had gone out to the dunes himself to look for this “Cave of Wonders” that his books spoke so highly about. A place with more gold and jewelry beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. But these were not the items that were the most sought out within the cave. The text described an oil lamp that was the true treasure. Trapped within that lamp was a genie with the power to grant three wishes of the masters’ desire. 

Reading it sounded like a folk tale, a story parents told their young children before sending them off to bed for the night. Yet the accounts within the book were detailed, as if the author had planted the lamp within the caves walls themselves. It peaked his curiosity each time he read over the text. There was a phrase that caught his eye numerous times.  

_The diamond in the rough._

The concept intrigued him. Only certain people could enter this cave, which made the need for the lamp to grow. Whether or not it was a genie that resided in that lamp, there was something that made it incredibly valuable to have that type of protection. 

Any night that he could, Jafar would escape from the palace. Under darkness, he ventured out to attempt to spot where this cave could be. But after the first week, he realized he could not go out as far as he wished. The sultan and other would question where he was if he wasn’t at the constant meetings they had planned. 

When he was stuck in those meetings, Iago would be sent out. He was Jafar’s eyes and ears when he was sequestered to those rooms each day, trying not to fall asleep when another proposal would come up regarding how to rebuild certain sections of the seaport. Each time he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, he was already pulled aside by Hamed at one point when one of the councilmen complained.

Iago would report back to him when he returned to his study, which was at one of the highest points in the palace. The parrot mentioned some odd rock formations miles from the city limits, but nothing matching the description of the lions head. Jafar would frown as he fed Iago, looking over the massive map he had on his desk. It could take him years to find the cave. Years he didn’t wish to wait. 

There were other matters taking up his time. It had taken much practice, but he had perfected his spell of manipulation. Hours spent down in those damp dungeons, testing it on criminals who would be passing through. The power that coursed through him each time he used it was electrifying. Unlike anything he had felt before. 

The plan to murder of the queen had been set. It would happen during her weekly walks through the marketplace as she greeted the people who adored her. Iago had watched her, tracing every step of her route, how many guards she had with her, and reported it back to him. 

Their relationship had a rocky start, but the red parrot had become an ally that Jafar desperately needed. 

There would be no trace of the incident reaching back to him. It would look like a simple attack, disgruntled travellers from another land who wished to send a message to the sultan. In reality, they were petty prisoners that he had manipulated. They would either be killed by the guards who would be too late to protect the queen or he would pass judgement on them. The perpetrators would be dealt with and no one would be the wiser that the plan began within the palace walls. 

Hamed would be distraught. He would rely on Jafar more then ever in his time of need. The thought of that additional power thrilled him. Even at the highest seat he could reach, power was what he craved. Which was why he was desperate to find the lamp. 

Even though he had been able to rise through the ranks, there was no way for Jafar to become sultan. The council would forbid it, the laws written in such a way that it decreed only a member of the royal family could become the next leader. It infuriated him. He, who had studied the lands, travelled to other kingdoms, ruled over certain aspects of the kingdom, would never have the chance. He was not born into that privilege. No matter what he did, they would still look down at him. 

With those three wishes, he could make himself sultan. Hamed had become weak in his age. He sought for peace at any chance he could when he could have had immense power at his fingertips. It was something that had rubbed off from Sabira. Which was a reason she needed to disappear. 

Jafar sat back in the chair he was resting on, his eyes scanning over a letter Hamed had passed to him. It was a declaration from one of the new kingdoms up north. They boasted about their lands and the materials they could bring with them if they were given passage to visit. There were multiple mentions of the king of the land coming with his son, a prince that sounded to be right around the age as Jasmine. 

It was easy to read between the lines.

“It sounds intriguing.” Jafar shrugged, placing the parchment on the desk. “It never hurts to have another ally in a different region. But…”

Hamed raised an eyebrow, waving his hand for Jafar to continue. “Something you noticed?”

“It’s very obvious that they wish to try and court the princess.”

Jasmine. The loathsome girl has become another pain in his side. She had become the spitting image of her mother, personality and all. Whenever he dined with the royal family, they mostly glared at one another when Hamed or Sabira weren’t looking. Gone were the days when she would tag along with him around the palace, peppering him with more questions then he knew how to answer. Now, she questioned everything he did. Even the simplest commands. In her mind, he assumed, it was playful. There was always a small smile on her lips when she opposed him, as if it was some sort of game. But to him, it was a sign of disrespect. 

Jafar would have loved nothing more for her to be married off to some faraway kingdom where he wouldn’t have to bother with her again. 

That wouldn’t be the case. As the only child of the royal family, whomever Jasmine married would become the sultan of Agrabah. An idea that angered him more. An outsider ruling a land they knew nothing about? How would someone like that be more qualified then him? 

The entire situation had him losing out in the end. 

Hamed sat back in his chair and sighed, reading over the letter again. “She hasn’t even come of age yet. There’s still some time before she has to go through this process…”

“It would still be a good idea to meet with this king,” Jafar advised, “They could bring resources with them that we could use here.”

The sultan hummed in agreement, setting the parchment down. His fingertip tapped the red ring that rest on his other hand. “That is true, but don’t we still have a number of other delegates coming from Zeidan and Shirabad coming in the next few weeks?” He asked with a tired sigh. “I don’t know if the palace would be prepared for a visit like that.”

“We could tell them that a visit would be a great honor but ask that they delay for a few months?” The delay would allow Jafar to gather information regarding the other kingdom. 

“I think that would be acceptable, don’t you?” Hamed questioned. “It would give us time to prepare. As well as discuss with Jasmine how this process will go.”

“You haven’t discussed it?” Jafar quired, brows slightly raised. 

The sultan laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I have attempted to discuss it. But she always seems to find something else to do. It’s a...tiring process.”

The whole idea of it made Jafar’s skin crawl. There were many rituals that the royal family had to abide by that made him roll his eyes. It all seemed like noise to him. When he became sultan, those things would change.

“I remember we had to be visited at least by...ten different kingdoms before I met Sabira.” Hamed continued, a small smile on his lips. “Lucky for me because I was getting tired of the whole show.”

“Well, let us hope that the princess doesn’t have the same issue.” Jafaer stated, grabbing a report from the desk. “Regarding the mee-”

“Have you found someone for yourself Jafar?”

The young man’s brow furrowed, looking up at the sultan. There was a glint of playfulness in them, the smile growing on his face. “Don’t look at me like that, you must have thought of it.”

“I…” his voice trailed off, his nails cutting into the parchment. It was the furthest thing from his mind. “No. There is too much to do to have time to think like that.”

“You have to find time for yourself Jafar, you’re always working,” Hamed shook his head, “You are a handsome young man. Surely you can find someone to be with you.”

He pursed his lips, averting his eyes back to the parchment in his hand. This wasn’t exactly the conversation he was looking to have. “Well, it has yet to happen. When I find some free time perhaps.”

Hamed watched his vizier, tempted to continue the conversation, but thought better of it. Whenever he did, Jafar would shut down and try his best to escape his presence. The subject, for a reason he couldn’t understand, seemed to trouble the young mn. 

“Hopefully you find that time.” He conceded, reading over a report that had been provided to him by one of the palaces many couriers. 

Jafar sighed inwardly. An unwanted conversation averted. 

Reading over the report, a sentence caught his eye. It regarded the borders of the kingdom. It seemed as if a group had been lingering out there for a few weeks. The courier advised that they didn’t see any suspicious behavior and didn’t know where exactly this group was from. But it had them on edge enough to include it. It unsettled him as well. 

Unwanted people at their borders could bring trouble. In his mind, it was best to take care of the matter before it could get worse. 

“My sultan, look at this report.” Jafar advised, handing the parchment over to the older man. Hamed read over the report quickly, looking up at him. 

“The group at the border?”  
“Yes. I think it’s best we take care of them now before anything happens.” Jafar proposed, tapping the desk to emphasize his point. “We don’t know where they are from or what they are doing.”

“And that is good enough reason to attack them?” Hamed wondered, shaking his head. “That seems like too much Jafar, why don’t we send someone on duty to ask them of their business?”

Jafar frowned, undeterred from his position. “What if they have weapons and attack this unsuspecting guard?”

“What if they are just travellers who don’t realize they are sitting at our border?” Hamed challenged, his brow furrowed. The sultan didn’t mind when Jafar countered his ideas, it allowed for a good back and forth between the two. But this seemed like a step to far. 

“What if they are spies? Gathering information to possibly attack?” The young man countered, his brown eyes darkening with his fury. The sultan was too blinded by his kindness to see the potential threat. “It is best that we attack or at least get them to move.”

“Your insistence of violence isn’t helping your case Jafar.”

“You insistence on letting them sit there shows to neighboring kingdoms that we have become spin-!”

Hamed’s hand slammed down on the desk, Jafar jumping back in his seat. A tension filled silence hung in the air, the sultan’s sharp gaze on his vizier. Jafar was beginning to sound too much like his father. 

“Remember yourself Jafar.” His voice was harsh, trying to hold back the anger that rolled through him. “Remember your place. You are my vizier and I will take your words into consideration. But don’t think you may overstep.”

His hands, buried in his sleeves, trembled. Heart pounding in his chest, he couldn’t hear the sultan’s voice. He was back in the cellar, his chin firmly in the grip of Shirbad’s sultan, the man looking down at him with a sneer. _“Remember your place... **rat.** ”  _

The words echoed in his mind. Controlling himself, his hands gripped tightly together, Jafar looked up at Hamed. There was a wetness around his eyes that he held back, schooling his features as best as he could. “Forgive me, my sultan. I apologize...it has been a long day.” He conceded, standing swiftly from his chair. “I will excuse myself.”

The young man quickly turned his back, gathering his staff in his hand. It took everything in his power to not allow it to shake. 

“Jafar.”

He stilled, biting his lip. His head turned slightly, enough to acknowledge the sultan. He could picture the frustration on the man’s face. “I will see you before the meeting tomorrow?” Hamed’s voice was still sharp, though touched with his normal softness. 

“Of course. Goodnight.”

Hamed watched Jafar rush from the room and leaned back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. What was he going to do with him?

* * *

The servants scurried out of his way, knowing better than to bother him when he was in one of his moods. His jaw tense, teeth gritted together, Jafar was steps away from ripping everything in his study. 

“Jafar?”

Hand resting on the door to his study, he cursed himself. Now, of all times? When he wanted to escape to his room and scream until his heart was content? Life laughed at him in such simple ways. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself.

Speaking with Hakim wouldn’t take too much time. 

Turning, his gaze was met with concerned expression. It was unlike Hakim, which put Jafar on edge. “Hakim...what is it that you need?”

The older man frowned, confusion flashing briefly in his gaze. “I thought we had agreed to meet about the seaport tonight.”

Damn him. How had he forgotten that? The meeting with Hamed went longer then it should have and with everything that transpired at the end…

“Yes...I’m sorry Hakim, it must have slipped my mind. My meeting with the sultan…”

He waved him off, “It is fine. The sultan comes first. Another time?”

Jafar thought he would snap his staff in half if he held it any tighter. He nodded. “Of course. We can discuss it tomorrow?”

Hakim’s eyes bore into him, an eyebrow raised slightly. “Did you get into another argument with the sultan?”

Jafar flushed, glaring at him. “W-why would that matter?” He stammered, cursing himself again. 

“You seem agitated.” Hakim replied cooley. “You and the sultan show the same tells when you disagree with one another.” The older man stepped closer to him, Jafar almost pressing himself up against the door. He’d never been this close before. “I’m off duty if you wanted to talk about it?”

His emotions were going in a hundred different directions. This was all happening in a short amount of time, he couldn’t have these many distractions before the plan tomorrow. But Hakim was standing so close, he could just reach out and…

No. Focus. There was more at stake here then some...silly crush. “You don’t know how much I would enjoy that. But I have some matters to look over for tomorrow’s meeting.” He explained, Hakim’s shoulders slumping slightly. But the man’s face never gave him away. “Another time perhaps? When I find myself in a better mood…”

Stepping back slightly, Hakim scoffed. “A better mood for you? I always seem to catch you during a bad one.”

“That’s because it’s mostly after meetings, you’d be in them too if you had to suffer through them.” He countered, earning a laugh from the other man. 

“True. Well...I’ll leave you then, we can discuss the meeting tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Hakim looked him over for a moment before turning away, walking down the hall. Jafar watched him, his heart pounding. That had been too close. His face flushed, he took one last glance at the palace guard before rushing into his study, slamming the door shut and locking it. 

The composure that he held onto for so long disappeared as soon as he made it through the doors.

Iago sat perched on the windowsill, watching his master storm into the study. He leaned his staff against one of the walls and ripped the turban off his head, throwing it across the room with a yell. 

“‘Remember you place Jafar’?!” He muttered angrily, pacing around the room. “I’ve never forgotten my place, the idiots here never let me forget! He’s mocking me...that old, senile fool is mocking me! How dare he!”

Frustrated tears formed at the corner of his eyes. It was Hamed who brought him here and for what? For pity? He felt bad for the lowly street rat that needed saving from one of his palace guards? Jafar was only a pet to him. The man didn’t care for him, he saw him as everyone else did. 

He pressed his back up against the wall, face in his hands, and let out a scream. There was a wetness on his face but he paid it no mind. All they did was mock him. Berate him. Tell him that he was nothing. 

That phrase was burned into his soul. It haunted him for years, every time he was whipped, any time he closed his eyes. It mocked him. And now? For a man he had admired to use it against him? It pained him. It enraged him. Hamed hadn’t suffered through half of the things he had, hadn’t worked nearly as hard as he did. And through a royal bloodline, he was sultan? 

The privileged would always have the advantage. 

He would crush them. The fools in this palace, in any kingdom, would know to fear him. To cower before him and the power he held. 

Slowly, a smile crept onto his face. He chuckled, shaking his head and walking across the room toward his books. The story of the cave was open and he leaned over it, laughing darkly. Iago flew from his place by the window and landed on the desk, looking up at his master. 

“Plan?” He cawed, ruffling his feathers.

“Oh yes Iago,” Jafar hissed, his hand gliding over the words of the book, “Tomorrow the queen will die. And the sultan will be so distraught, he’ll have no choice but to give me more power over the kingdom. And then!” He exclaimed, a crazed desire in his eyes. “Then I will find the lamp! And once I have the lamp, that fool will know to ‘remember his place’ as I become sultan! I will take everything from him!” Slamming his hand on the table, surprising Iago, Jafar turned his gaze to the view of the city.

The candles in many of the windows of the buildings flickered. The people out in the streets, chattering amongst themselves. They had become too comfortable with peace. Like their sultan, they had become spineless. But he would show them. They would fear him. 

A sinister smile stretched across his face.“They will all rue the day they mocked me, as I make them bow before me.”

* * *

The morning meetings dragged on. Every moment, Jafar’s eyes would flicker to the doorway, looking for a guard to interrupt. There was no specific time for it to happen, but he knew it would be soon. The queen usually came back to the palace a little after the midday meal. 

Hamed had declared the meeting over and most of the council men had left the room. Jafar moved to get up as well but a hand caught his wrist. His gaze turned toward it, Hamed’s eyes on him.

“Sit with me?”

Disgust rolled over him, but he simply nodded. Leaning his staff against the table, Jafar sat back. Would it be the normal routine they went through? Where the man would apologize to him and they would share a quiet moment together? Hamed had become predictable. It was no wonder why he was so easy to manipulate. 

“We didn’t agree regarding what action to take last night and I still don’t today.” Hamed voice held an edge, but it softened as he looked at his vizier. “But I do appreciate your counter points. I hope you know this. I can’t have people around me that always agree.”

He stared, taken aback for a moment. It was like some backhanded compliment. “I...do what I can to offer up my opinion my sultan. I never meant to show disrespect.”

Hamed’s hand squeezed his arm, a warm smile on his face. “Of course you didn’t. I know how passionate you get about things Jaf-”

A banging on the door interrupted them, both their heads turning toward the source. “Come in!” Hamed declared, leaning away from him. Hakim came through the door, quickly closing it behind him. The hairs on the back of Jafar’s neck stood up.

“Is everything alright?” Hamed asked, walking over to Hakim. The man’s eyes flashed to Jafar before meeting the eyes of the sultan.

“It is urgent my sultan. The queen…”

“The queen what?” He asked urgently, Jafar watching from afar. His hand covered the growing smile on his face. 

Hakim's face crumbled slightly, bowing his head. “The queen has been killed, my sultan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, bit of a nail in the coffin for Jafar there. He was already on that path but the sultan mayyy have pushed him over the edge a bit with that phrase. That and being called "second" really bothered him in the movie so I thought that would work here. And yeah, little more Hakim and Jafar cause I obviously have a problem and a hang up with them. I'm for sure gonna write something else with them...I mean come on, we all discussed this. He's so hung up on Hakim, I mean same Jafar. I would too. Love that guy.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! I'm 95% sure the next chapter will be the last cause we'll be caught up with the movie by then. But we shall see!


	8. Second No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! It's been a bit of a journey, but I'm happy you guys stuck around to read it. I just wanted to mention up top that this one is a little different from the other chapters. 
> 
> It's multiple character's points of view. How they see Jafar. And then ending with, of course, Jafar. I wanted to try it out and I really enjoyed doing it. So I hope you do too! 
> 
> Also, I added a new tag cause even though it doesn't happen...I like the pining, what can I say?

“Did you get the chance to speak with the sultan after the service today?”

Sitting across from Hakim, Jafar cradled the glass in his hands carefully. The vizier’s gaze had been turned to the window, the night sky a murky black. No stars insight. It seemed fitting for the day it had been. 

The funeral was peaceful. It had taken time to make the arrangements, allowing Sabira’s family to make the trek from Shirabad. The guests were distraught, as was everyone within the kingdom. The sultan and the princess most of all. The muffled crying of the princess still echoed in Hakim’s ears. 

Murdered. It had been unexpected, a shock when Hakim was first informed. He thought it a cruel joke. But there were screams he could hear from the streets and his heart froze when he came upon the scene. The queen, on the ground, blood soaking the dirt beneath her. Her eyes were closed, her face almost peaceful. As if she had just fainted. When he felt for a pulse, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

The image was burned into his mind. He hadn’t slept much since the incident. 

The devastation on the sultan’s face when he delivered the news was another image that stuck with him. His hands had shaken, whispering to himself, demanding to see his wife. His voice was strained, tears forming in his eyes, and Jafar had risen from his seat and tried to comfort him. 

Everything in the passing days had felt like a blur. 

It was after the service now. Hakim’s body was tired but his mind wouldn’t stop racing through scenarios. He had invited Jafar for a drink to keep those thoughts at bay. The young man looked like he was one step away from passing out, the bags under his eyes and the dullness in his gaze concerning him. But he had agreed to join him. 

Those dark eyes looked at him now, shaking his head with a sigh. “No. He was whisked off by the queen’s brother...and then I assume to his room.” He took a sip of his wine, clicking his tongue at the taste. “He hasn’t been very talkative, as you can imagine.”

“Yes...there’s much to process.” He leaned back in his chair, “Even more than what we thought.”

“How are the guards who were with her?” Jafar asked with a raised brow, “Have they been able to provide anything?”

The older man sighed, shoulders slumping. Two of his bravest men, who always walked that route with the queen, caught off guard. It continued to puzzle him. “Akbar is still recovering. One of those rats got him in the side, so they want to watch him a little longer. Jarah is...as well as he can be.” He placed his glass to the side, rubbing his hands over his face. “I just can’t understand how this happened.”

He heard the scrapping of the chair against the floor, Jafar bringing himself closer to him. His own glass put aside, he leaned forward, catching Hakim’s eye. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Hakim held back a laugh. How could he not? He was head of the palace guards, he was the one they all looked to for guidance. “I should have been there,” he countered, rubbing his eyes. “If I was there…”

“But you’re never there Hakim.” Jafar interrupted. “When was the last time you accompanied the queen on one of those walks?”

Hakim’s frown deepened. Jafar was right, but he didn’t like it. “I understand what you’re saying Jafar, but still…”

The vizier sighed, leaning back in his chair. Hakim missed his presence being close. 

Jafar rubbed his hand over his bearded jaw. “If you allow your mind to wander like that, you’ll drive yourself mad.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. His eyes flickered over Hakim, a small tugging on his lips. A touch of humor in his gaze. “You’re overthinking it.”

Hakim stared at him, taken aback. The response rolled around in his head before a memory played back in his mind. It had been a hot day, years ago, two boys swinging swords together. Simpler times. 

 He scoffed, shoving the vizier lightly on the shoulder. “You’re really funny, you know that? Smartass…”

Jafar smirked. “A wise man once said…”

“Enough.” Jafar chuckled as he was shoved again, Hakim taking another sip from his glass. It was nice, having him here like this. Relaxed. 

Whenever he spoke with Jafar, it was usually relating to the palace or an issue with the kingdom. Hakim could see the walls that he built up around himself during those times. An icy exterior, though it made sense to him. Dealing with the kingdom’s council would drive him mad. Just being in the same room as some of the members made him want to roll his eyes out of his skull. 

Jafar was different. Quiet but forceful. Driven. Hakim had watched him long enough to see how he had changed from a nervous, blushing boy. There was little trace of that child now. He had seen that first hand when they had returned from Shirabad. 

It wasn’t a time he wished to re-visit. 

“I did want to bring an item up to you if you would hear it?” Jafar asked, snapping Hakim out of his thoughts. The smirk still lingered on his lips. “With what has happened, I feel like there should be more guards on the streets. To make the people feel safe.”

He nodded. “I agree. The guards have noticed that market place has become noticeably quieter since the incident.” His eyes found Jafar’s, a brow raised. “Will you have to discuss with the sultan?”

Jafar waved his hand. “No. I wouldn’t want to bother him with such a small thing right now. He will understand, I’m sure.” He frowned, taking the glass in his hand. “We’ll most likely have to alert the other kingdoms that were coming to visit that...it would not be the best course of action right now.”

Hakim watched him, biting back a small smile. The first time they had met, the then prince couldn’t get Jafar to say two words to him. Only his name and even that was more of a whisper. From where he stood, the younger boy was only comfortable around the prince. He had mentioned to his father that he didn’t think the boy would last very long. 

He was happy to be proven wrong. 

“What?” Jafar asked, brows furrowed. 

“Nothing, I was just…” He trailed off, chuckling to himself. “I was just thinking about when you were first brought into the palace.”

The vizier sat up, interest piqued. “Is that so?” 

“I remember this small boy who wouldn’t say two words to me.”

“In my defense, your face doesn’t scream inviting.” Jafar countered, his eyes shining with humor. Hakim loved it when they did that. It brought warmth to them that he wished he saw more often. 

“Nonetheless, I bet my father that he wouldn’t last.” He waved off the glare the other man was sending him. “Don’t give me that look. It was based on one encounter. But, I was proven wrong. Happily so.

“You’re still here and now you’re vizier to the sultan. You worked yourself up to this spot, persevered. How many people can say that, especially with these walls?” Hakim leaned forward, eyes locked on Jafar. “I think that’s something to admire.”

Mouth agape, it reminded Hakim of a fish, Jafar’s face flushed. He hadn’t expected that. Swiftly, he took a long sip of his wine. The blush that lingered on his cheeks was cute. He missed seeing that. 

“Well I …,” Jafar stopped, frowning. It may be only for a moment, but Hakin had stumped him. He would wear that with pride for a bit. The vizier always had a cunning word to say. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

“If we're going to compliment each other, I always thought you were a bit of a brute when we met,” Jafar confessed. He placed the glass he fiddled with on the ground between his feet. “Like all the other guards I had met.”

“Is that how you hand out compliments?”

The vizier waved him off with a huff. “But you weren’t. You’re actually...not as dumb as I thought you would be,” he smirked, Hakim shoving him again. Jafar held up his hands in a defensive manner. “But you weren’t. You’re actually very smart and insightful and...good company to be in. And I appreciate that.”

A silence settled over the room. The crashing waves outside the window brought a calmness to Hakim, his heart pounding in his chest. The candlelight flickered over Jafar’s features, shined against his dark eyes. His fingernails dug into the palm of his hand.  It would be so easy. Taking his face into his hands and kissing him, like he had wanted to do for so long. Even if Jafar rebuked him, he would still have that one moment. 

No. He wouldn’t take the chance, though he yearned for it. 

A small, strained smile touched his lips. “Does it pain you to compliment someone? Because that seemed like it was painful.”

Jafar frowned, annoyance flashing over his face. “I can take it back.”

“Now don’t be childish.”

Jafar tried to resist more wine, but Hakim wouldn’t hear it. They needed this night before going back to the harsh realities of the kingdom in the morning. A small escape. 

His loyalty would always be to the sultan and the royal family. Nothing would ever change that, it was firmly planted in his soul. There was always a lingering fear within him about having to choose. Jafar was the sultan’s most trusted advisor, Hakim knew in his heart that would never change. But politics changed people. Power changed people. 

He only hoped that it wouldn't change Jafar. 

* * *

The sultan’s chambers acted as his sanctuary. The walls were his barriers from the day to day struggles that lingered throughout the palace. It was this space that allowed him to set his worries aside, for the short times he found himself within it. 

This past week had been a trying time in the palace. The leader of Abbas and his son had left earlier in the day. The visit had been eventful if Hamed was to put it kindly. The leader was always an interesting man, even when Hamed had met him in the past. The man’s son was another issue. 

The moment they met in the grand hall, Hamed knew he would be no match for his daughter. The smug expression on his face, his discontent with the traditions of the meeting, the way his eyes lingered on Jasmine as she entered. He didn’t have the see the disgusted look his daughter was making to know it was there. 

He had tried to keep the peace between the two younger people. Jasmine, while polite, did not hide the fact that she had no interest in the prince. Most of the time, she was sitting with Dalia, outright ignoring the prince. His father didn’t seem surprised that they weren’t a match, but this didn’t relive Hamed’s stress. 

He sat back in the chair at his desk, which was overrun by other papers and small gifts the leader of Abbas had brought for him. Absently, he turned over the gold figure in his hands. The process of finding a suitor was as exhausting as he remembered it being. Harder even. 

Sabira was always better at this. She thrived when guests would arrive, knowing the best ways to entertain them. The warmth she brought to the room with her smile alone made everything easier. Even when the guests were unsavory, she would have a joke or remark ready to whisper in his ear that would make him laugh. 

Sadness crept over him. The palace hadn’t been the same since she passed. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t the same. 

Losing Sabira felt like his heart had been ripped out from him. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of her, see the ghost of her in parts of the palace. Jasmine shared a striking resemblance to her, personality and all. It wasn’t often, but there were times when it hurt to look at her and, for a fleeting moment, see the mirror image of the wife he longed to be with. 

Hamed loved his daughter, with all his heart. Jasmine was growing into a beautiful, powerful woman before his eyes. But there was a distance between them since Sabira’s passing. They didn't discuss her. It was a mistake, not grieving together. Even now, there was another wedge between them. Jasmine wanted no part of this marriage process and she had made that point clear multiple times. He could see the hurt in her eyes as he refused her again of her wish to become the sultan. There were days when she would hide away, refusing to speak with him.  

It was all a mess. Yet he had to keep the image of the unflappable sultan. 

Turning the figure over again, he chuckled. No wonder his father had gone mad. 

A knocking on his door brought him out of his thoughts. Who was disturbing him now? He sighed, placing the figure down. 

“Come in.”

Stepping through the open door, Jafar bowed his head. “My sultan.” He walked into the room, stopping a few feet from the desk. As always, his expression was unreadable. 

With how busy the day was, Hamed realized after a moment that he hadn’t seen his vizier all day. Not a mistake by the young man’s part, he was sure. “Jafar. I apologize, I must have missed you today…”

“It is no fault of yours, my sultan. I…” He paused, twisting the staff in his hand. “If I allowed to be honest?”

Hamed smirked, knowing exactly what the young man was thinking. “You didn’t want to enjoy the lovely company of our guests anymore?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ve never met a man so dimwitt-”

“Play nice, Jafar.”

The vizier hummed. While he was able to talk to the leader of Abbas, Hamed could tell that it was torture for Jafar. The man wasn’t the brightest in the room, far from it, but he was still kind. But that wasn’t enough for his vizier. Another issue he would have to discuss with him at a later date. 

“I came to see how long of a break you would like before the next kingdom pays Agrabah a visit,” Jafar asked, changing the subject. “I received another letter today.”

The idea caused him to groan, resting his head in his hands. Did these kingdoms not understand that they could space out their visits? It was not as if Agrabah would disappear in a day. All he asked was for a moment of rest. 

Jafar seemed to share the same sentiment. “I had a feeling that would be your answer. I can inform them that we won’t be accepting visitors until after the festival?”

The festival. Another event that he would have to attend. Though this one put him more at ease and it wasn’t as tricky to prepare for. 

Hamed nodded, looking up at Jafar. “I agree. That way, we can allow the staff and others to rest at least. I can see they are growing exhausted.”

“Of course,” He answered, bowing his head. “I will write up a response in the morning. I’ll let you to your res-”

“Stay.” The word escaped him before he can think better of it. “If you are not busy, of course. It’s been some time since we’ve talked.”

There was a time when he would be able to read Jafar like an open book. Now, it was almost impossible. It was a trait he had picked up while growing into the politics of the kingdom. 

It saddened a small part of him. 

“I would...enjoy that, my sultan.”

Jafar went to sit, but Hamed stopped him, rising from his chair. “No, let’s take a walk. I’ve been in here for too long today.”

The palace gardens at night were his favorite place to be. The crisp desert air brought him some relief, a sigh escaping him as they stepped outside. His gaze turned upwards to the night sky, tonight littered with stars. It was picturesque. 

“I should have warned you about the leader of Abbas, he is a nice man but…” Hamed paused, laughing to himself at a memory from years ago. “He is a character.”

“That is a nice word to describe him,” Jafar replied, walking along with him. He had left his staff back in the room, which surprised Hamed. It was an item that rarely left his side. “I’m sure I could come up with something more...creative.”

“I have no doubt about that. When I first met him, I had the same reaction.”

Walking together, they talked. More so, Hamed talked. Jafar listened intently, providing his own opinion from time to time or adding a sly remark that would make him laugh. 

It was different. The ease of the conversation was there, but it didn’t come as naturally as it once had. When he was younger, there was a lightness that Jafar had. Always curious, asking questions, but staying respectful to a point that Hamed couldn’t help but smile. Even as he grew up, it was there. 

There wasn’t tension between them. That wasn’t the right word. But there was something that Hamed couldn’t put his finger on. As if his vizier tried to keep his distance, while at the same time always being by his side. It troubled him. He couldn’t understand what it was. 

Was he overworking the young man? He had tried to give Jafar time off, but he always refused. His response would be polite, but Hamed would see something flash in his eye. Did his vizier think he would lose his position if he wasn’t working? The question plagued him.  

He trusted Jafar more than almost anyone in the palace. It would be foolish of him to even consider trying to find another man for his position. Jafar knew the ins and outs of the city better than anyone else, even him at times. Even when they argued, they would eventually come to some sort of agreement on the matter. There were still issues they didn’t see eye to eye about but he didn’t mind that. He found that having someone disagreeing with him from time to time made him a better leader. 

Shirabad. It was the main issue that lingered between them. A sore subject on two fronts for Hamed. Sabira’s kingdom, which she adored. When they would visit, she would take him to all the spots she loved. Introduced him to the people, regaled him with the history of the land. He longed to see it again. 

It was also the place that held Jafar for five years. Time and time again, he tried to get to him sooner. His father stopped him at every turn, saying his life was more important than his messenger boy. It infuriated him. He was kept up at night, his mind not letting him rest.   Whatever happened to Jafar, he would blame himself. 

When Hakim had called for him down that dark hall, his heart jumped into his throat. Walking through that door and seeing him, it took everything in him not to cry. His body was littered with scars, visible through the rags they had him in. The light that had been in his eyes when Hamed saw him last, climbing onto that camel to Zeidan, was gone. 

If Jafar blamed him for what happened, Hamed would understand. 

“Hamed.”

There was a squeeze on his shoulder, snapping him from his circling thoughts. Blinking, he looked around until his eyes met Jafar’s. 

His brows were furrowed, confused. “Is everything alright? You seem troubled.”

Rubbing his eyes, Hamed nodded and patted his vizier’s hand. “Yes, thank you, Jafar. My mind must have wondered...with these past few days…”

Jafar’s hand slid off his shoulder. “I understand. It’s been very busy.” He gestured back toward the path they had taken. “Would you like to go and rest?”

The sultan hummed, laughing to himself. “Now you’re making me sound like an old man. But yes.” 

Returning to his chambers, Jafar grabbed his staff. His hand traced down the handle. For a moment, Hamed swore he saw the jeweled eyes flash. But he brushed it off as a play of light in the room. 

“I will see you tomorrow, my sultan.” Jafar bowed. “A much calmer day, I’m sure.”

“Before you go Jafar,” the young man turned back to him. He smiled softly, resting his turban on the desk before him. “Thank you, for all your hard work. It doesn’t go unappreciated. I hope you know that.”

The brown eye’s watching his widened slightly before his expression was schooled. He bowed his head. “I do what I must, my sultan. But thank you.” He paused, his jaw tensing for a moment. A hint of a smile was on the edge of his lips. “Goodnight.”

The door closed, Hamed sighed. The young man continued to be a puzzle for him. He wished there was something more he could show his appreciation with, but there was no higher placement in the land but his own role as sultan. 

Sabira would know the right thing to say. 

* * *

Anger coursed through her. Jasmine’s fists clenched at her sides as she stormed through the hallway leading away from his father’s room. The nerve of that man. She could hear the condescension dripping from his tone over and over in her head. What right did he have?

What happened to make him become like this? All he does is taunt her now, mock her at any chance. But she remembered a time when that wasn’t the case. 

When had Jafar become this cruel man bent on pushing her down?

Spotting the tail end of Jafar’s cloak around the corner of the hall, Jasmine picked up her pace. It would stop here. She wouldn’t allow him to mock her again. To belittle her like she was nothing. 

“Jafar!” She called, her tone laced with anger. The vizier stopped, a few feet standing between them. 

Turing, a smirk was spread across Jafar’s face. It made her skin crawl. There was nothing right about him. 

“I thought you were ordered to stay in your room princess?” He questioned with a mocking tone. “Or will you disobey your father again?”

“How did you know?” She challenged, stepping toward him. “Did you make Dalia tell you? Because if you hurt her…”

The man rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. He stepped toward her slowly. “Why would I waste my time with that? You should know better than to try and sneak out.” Towering over her, Jafar leaned down until they were eye to eye. Wickedness shined in his gaze. “And if you do...don’t let it be so obvious.”

Jasmine bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep herself from losing control. He thought her weak. No more than a simple plaything. 

She glared at him, suspicion in her eyes. “What happened to you? To that boy who was kind?” Her voice was harsh, seething with the anger coursing through her. “When did he become a vile and cruel man?”

His brown eyes had darkened to a point where Jasmine could mistake them for black. They bore into her, like a predator watching his prey. She stood firm, her eyes not leaving his. This was his true nature. How could her father and the other’s within the palace not see? 

“Not everyone has the sheltered and carefree life you’re so privileged to have,” he hissed darkly, his expression blank. “You talk of ruling...of leading a country. When you haven’t experienced even a quarter of what I have.” 

Frozen, she watched him lean away from her. The hairs on the back of neck stood up as a mocking smile formed on his lips. “It’s best you know your place.” 

What freighted her wasn’t the threat. Not the anger she could hear in his voice. It was the coldness of the look in his eyes. It pierced her. Something sinister simmered below the surface of the man standing before her. 

“If there is nothing else, princess?” He asked cooly. Before she could respond, he turned away from her and proceeded down the hall. She didn’t dare move until she saw him disappear around the corner. 

Gripping her hands together, she could feel them trembling. She turned and walked in the opposite direction, taking a deep breath to calm herself. There had to be something she could do. 

Her mind lingered back to the times when she found herself playing with Hakim or Jafar when they weren’t busy. Hakim would show her basic defenses, simple things a child would understand. Her mother would look on, slightly amused when the young guard would allow her to take him down. 

Jafar would listen to her babble about what she had learned with her teacher that day. Or she would pepper him with questions regarding the book he had been reading. He was quiet but would listen intently and answer things the best he could for her. 

Where had that gone? Had it all been an act, from the day her father brought him into the palace? She didn’t want to believe that. It didn’t seem possible for someone to play such a long con. It could have been there all along and no one had seen the signs. 

Entering her chambers, Jasmine thew herself onto her bed. Burying her face in her pillow, she thought of when he returned to the palace. The coldness that had lingered in his gaze as he looked upon her and her mother before being ushered away. 

The image of him standing beside her father, whispering in his ear, sent chills up her spine. Jafar would bring ruin to this kingdom, she felt it in the pit of her stomach. The was no evidence to back her. No one would listen to her. But she would find a way to prove it and expose him. 

She couldn’t sit by and continue to watch her father be fooled by this snake in human form. 

* * *

Power pulsed through him. Coursing through his veins, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His eyes lingered on those left in the room. 

Aladdin, that foolish boy, had been banished. Left to die a slow and painful death. He had told him to strive for more and he could have. He had held the lamp. And he had wished for what? To make pretend as a prince? Win the princess’s heart? Jafar sneered at the idea. It was too small an idea. For that mistake, he would suffer.

Hakim was another matter. In his mind, he knew that the guard would stay loyal to the former sultan. But there was a foolish part of him that yearned for Hakim to pick him. He had been the one person he looked to. Even trapped in the dungeon, he warned Hakim of the choice he would have to make. There was conflict in the guard’s eyes before he left, leaving him with Iago to break him out. 

Again, he had been passed over. There was no one he could turn to. No one but himself to trust. 

“I could simply kill you all,” he announced cooly, gaze flickering between Jasmine and the sultan. He paid the handmaiden no mind. “But that would be inadequate repayment for the years of  humiliation and neglect.” 

The lingering eyes of the councilmen, the guards, even the servants, flashed in his mind. The mocking tone in their voices when addressing him. Acting as if he was nothing more than dirt. A small child treated like a rat. A young man who was the end of the jokes passed around the palace. 

He stepped toward the group, his eyes locked on Hamed. “ _ Remember your place Jafar _ …” he quoted with anger, snarling as he took another step toward them, “ _ You forget yourself Jafar _ .”

The cool air of the Shirabad dungeon tickled his skin, his grip on the staff tightening. The dirt of the floors still stuck beneath his nails. The scars that crisscrossed on his back pulsed, the sensation of the leather ripping across his flesh still burned in his mind. 

Holding up his hands, Hamed’s eyes widened at the words. “Jafar…” He pleaded, trailing off. 

“No.” Jafar stopped, mere feet away from them, his eyes like daggers. “What you need... _ Baba _ ,” he hissed the last word, mockingly, “is to suffer. Like I have suffered.”

Slamming his staff on the ground, he watched as the sultan crumbled to his knees. His hands clawed at his chest, looking up Jafar. Pain etched onto his face, unable to form words through his clenched teeth. 

A sick glee ran through him. Finally, they would understand. They would learn what it was like to have everything precious stripped away. To understand what real pain felt like and there is nothing that can be done to stop it. 

He watched as Jasmine desperately looked around for help, holding her precious baba with such care. How funny and cruel fate could be. There was a time long ago when their roles were reversed. 

In the market place, all those years ago. Hamed had towered over him, kneeling down and offered him a simple roll. At that moment, it meant everything to Jafar. No one had spared a single moment to provide him with such kindness. It had allowed hope to slither into his heart. A hope that he wouldn’t be left alone again. That he would be cared for. 

Hamed had ruffled his hair, his smile bright, and offered him a home. 

He should have known better. Jafar was nothing but a tool for the man. He had never cared for him. The fact that he let this man bring that kind of feeling into his heart enraged him. 

Twisting his staff, he continued to choke the life out of the man that fooled him. 

Hakim had betrayed him. Jasmine thought she could stand up to him. Hamed thought he could use him. 

There was no one he could trust but himself. It was something he had taught himself over and over again while on the streets of Agrabah. To show kindness was to show weakness. Anyone could hurt him, use him, turn that kindness against him. He allowed himself to fall into the delusion that he could trust these people. 

But no more. Now, no one could stand up to him. 

He towered above them all, Jasmine’s eyes gleaming with hatred. A sinister smile spread across Jafar’s face.

Second to no one no more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There he goes, bout to do his big dumb plan. What a guy, that Jafar. Anyway, thank you all again for all the support! It really means a lot to me. It's very rare that I actually complete a multi-chaptered story so I'm very proud that I was able to do that for this. 
> 
> And listen...you don't know the restraint I had to have not to just...have Hakim and Jafar kiss. I don't know how this happened to me, this started off as a little thing and then I sat around yesterday for 15 minutes debating if I should put it in. But! Some of you have expressed interest in them, so I will be writing something up for them. 
> 
> Also, I loved writing Jasmine's bit. I adore her to pieces and, to me, she's the only one who knows Jafar's true nature. So I had a great time writing that, I also liked the idea of her bugging Hakim and Jafar when they weren't busy when she was young. It's cute!
> 
> Hamed and Jafar continue to crush my soul. It's just a fact. Because he obviously does love and care for Jafar but dumbass can't see it cause he's blinded by jealousy and greed. I also loved writing the stuff with Sabira, I hope if we get a sequel, their relationship is touched on. 
> 
> Anyway, long note! Thanks for sticking around :)


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